Father Figure
by dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Following the events of 'Helpless', Buffy doesn't want to lose Giles. Giles doesn't want to leave Buffy alone, and Joyce just wants her daughter to be safe, healthy and happy. Which leads to an interesting proposal, which may or may not turn out well for all involved.
1. Chapter 1: Confessions, and Conundrums

**Father Figure**

 **Chapter** **One:** **Confessions,** **Conundrums,** **and** **Considerations**

He wasn't expecting her.

Joyce hesitated on the doorstep, manners warring with a desperate need for information. She really should have called ahead.

She considered going back, then calling to ask if it was a good time to visit. But Buffy was being distracted and surrounded by her friends, which meant there was no better time for her to leave her teenage daughter alone. And she was safe, in their properly warded and guarded house.

There was no better time to seek her answers. And no better person to seek them from.

She stepped forward and rapped her hand sharply on the door, trying to squash the butterflies that a lifetime of proper manners instilled, in regards to visiting a man in his home unannounced.

There was a faint response, then a minute later the door latch clicked and the door swung open. "Yes? Oh."

Giles stopped, blinking in the porch light. Even in the dimness, Joyce could see the purpling bruise across his temple. He blinked again. "Ah...Joyce. Good…good evening, I suppose." He ducked his head, shy and awkward.

The fact that he was as uncomfortable as she was made her feel better. Gave her courage. "Uh, yes. Good evening, Rupert." It was still so strange to call him that. Buffy always called him Giles. "I'm sorry if this is a bad time…."

"No. no, it's not. I was just..." A faint, self deprecating smile washed over his features. "Well, I was just about to sit down with a drink and an ice pack, actually, if you'd care to join me."

"Yes to the drink. No to the ice pack. You probably need it more than I do." She followed him inside, into a moderately sized living room crowded with books and knick-knacks, with just enough room for a sofa and an end table and a lamp.

"Gods, I sincerely hope so." He ushered her to the couch, then went around a half-wall to the kitchen, returning a moment later with two glasses and a bottle. He settled down next to her, popped the bottle open and poured two drinks, then handed one to her. "How's Buffy?"

"Frustrated." Joyce smothered a chuckle, remembering the scene in her kitchen that afternoon. "She doesn't like being weak. Well, weaker than Xander and Willow in the physical department, at any rate. Personally, I don't think there's anything weak about her, but then, I'm just her mother."

"No. There's certainly nothing weak about Buffy." Giles smiled again, but his eyes were haunted as he sipped his drink. "The physical effects should wear off in a few days. I suspect once she's returned to normal and managed to get a few good slayings under her belt, she'll be back to her usual self. Generally, that's how it seems to work for her. Well, there is some emotional outburst to be handled at some point, but she's very good at channeling it into aggression as needed until she's worked through it. Though, I suspect a shoulder to cry on wouldn't go terribly amiss."

"Probably not. But I think Willow has that covered at the moment." Joyce sipped her own drink. "Besides, Buffy's feeling guilty for my involvement, and she's worried about my emotional state. So even if mother-daughter confessions didn't violate some obscure parent-child, parent-slayer relationship taboo, she probably wouldn't want to share with me. Not right now, at least. Maybe later."

"Indeed. That would be...quite like her, yes." Giles offered a short, jerky nod, then went back to sipping his drink, staring at the opposite wall as if the world depended on his being able to describe every crack and marking on it.

Joyce considered her options, then decided to go with the blunt, straightforward approach. He seemed the type of man to appreciate that. "Buffy told me you were fired. As her Watcher, I mean."

She was watching him close enough to see the almost imperceptible flinch that rippled across his shoulders, and the way his hands tightened on the glass. "I was, yes. Directly after the end of the test. There should be a new Watcher here within the month, at the longest."

"And then what?" Buffy hadn't said what would happen. Joyce wasn't sure Buffy even knew.

"And then..." Giles paused, then gulped the remainder of his drink. He refilled the glass, then sat cradling it, elbows on his knees, his expression so still that the very stillness of it told her the anguish he was experiencing. "Then I will be required to step aside. I will not be permitted to train Buffy, nor advise her. At least, not in any official capacity. I will, however, still have my contract as the school librarian to fulfill, so I shan't disappear completely from her life, and I will still be available if she needs me. But my contact with her will be limited, and most likely, strictly supervised. And should the new Watcher report that I am interfering overmuch in his duties and his regulation of Buffy, then the Council will most likely see to it that I am fired and my working visa revoked, thus forcing me to return to England." He knocked back another swallow of his whiskey. "If that happens, you can be sure they will do everything within their power to ensure that Buffy and I never cross paths again."

"Sounds serious." Joyce sipped her drink, content to sit in silence with him for a few minutes, waiting for the tension in his shoulders to fade.

"It is. I feel...I feel trapped, between maintaining the necessary distance to keep myself from being removed from her side entirely, and remaining close enough to support her properly." His hands clenched angrily, his head bowing for a moment before he wrenched it up. Then a tormented expression crossed his face, and his head bowed again, his shoulders hunching in an expression of pure misery. "Of course, I'm sure Buffy would prefer I have as little contact with her as possible at the moment, given the circumstances and recent occurrences."

Joyce released the glass with one hand and laid it gently on his shoulder. "I'm not so sure about that." She kept her voice calm, quiet, sensing he needed the outburst, a way to vent the poison that was burning inside him.

His head whipped up to look at her, and she saw shame in his expression before he turned away. "I subjected her to a terrible ordeal. A horrible and unfair test, just to prove...to prove nothing really. After all the trials she's faced, all the monsters and demons she's dealt with, she has nothing to prove. Not to me, not to anyone. She certainly shouldn't have had to go through such an insane and dangerous ordeal to prove her worth to the Council. I knew that, and yet I...I..." He all but flung the glass to the table, locking his hands together in white-knuckled fists. "I submitted to the Council's demands. I poisoned her with the drugs to disable her powers. I listened to her fears, her worries, her terror over her vulnerability, and I did nothing. Said nothing. Not until it was too late. I gave her mindless, meaningless platitudes while she sat before me, terrified that her powers were fading and she would no longer have the strength to protect those whose lives and happiness depended upon her skills. The things I put her through, for the sake of pointless Council protocol and formality..."

He broke off, voice cracking as he buried his hands in his hair, folding over his knees in an expression of pure human grief and guilt. "I'm sure you and Buffy can come to an understanding. Buffy is..." A sad smile touched her face, remembering half a year ago. "Buffy is very good at forgiving people. And understanding."

"She is. She is far better at forgiveness than I deserve. I fear that she will indeed forgive me, and that I will in turn only wound her further." The words were muffled by his arms, but Giles didn't unfold from his position.

There wasn't much she could say to that. She knew from painful experience that what he said was quite likely. Joyce settled for rubbing his shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting fashion.

Only a few months ago, she'd all but hated the man. Hated him for his relationship, his bond, to her daughter. For all the secrets he knew about her child, secrets she had never been privy to. For the duty he had taught her, a duty that had taken the innocent little socialite Buffy had once been and made her the Slayer.

Now she wanted to comfort him. Now she knew more about the life he lived, the burden he bore, watching over the special young woman that had been given into both of their care. Now she understood the strain it placed on him, and on Buffy, keeping the terrible secret they both shared. After Buffy's return, they'd overcome some of their differences and grievances with each other, and she'd even become a bit fond of him.

It took several minutes, but he finally started to relax a little. He uncurled, hands swiping across his face to wipe away tears with sharp, hurried strokes, almost as if he thought she would scold him or get angry with him over the display of his emotions. In fact, he actually offered her an ashamed smile moments later. "My apologies. I assure you, such outbursts are most uncharacteristic of me. Generally, I exhibit much better control of myself than my current state might lead one to believe..."

"Then I'm sure you needed it." She didn't let him continue his self-deprecating apology. "That happens sometimes." She remembered her own explosion the night Buffy had left home. And the one a few nights after Buffy had come back.

"I...I suppose I did. It has been a rather...trying few days." He reached for his drink and sipped it, slow, cautious sips this time. "I...thank you. For your patience."

"Of course." Joyce nodded. "Actually, I was wondering if I could ask you something else."

"Of course. Please do go on." He gave her his full attention once again.

She hesitated, wondering if it was even the proper time to bring it up, then decided there was no point in having disturbed him without addressing the reason she'd come over. "Buffy...she didn't tell me why you were fired. And honestly, with everything that's gone on, I can't imagine why anyone would think you need to be fired. I mean, there have certainly been some bumps in the road, I suppose..." She shrugged her shoulders, trying to convey acceptance and understanding of it, even though she was was sure she didn't understand half of what had gone on for the two or three years. "But if they didn't fire you over things like Angelus, or the Apocalypse, or...well, Buffy mentioned a demon last year..."

"Eyghon. Yes. I remember." The wince told her it was a particularly painful memory for him. She decided not to delve any further into it.

"Yes. If all those didn't get you fired, I guess I'm having trouble understanding what did." She studied his profile. "And I'd like to. Given the influence you have on my daughter's life..."

"Indeed." A short, painful laugh broke from him, startling her with it's raw harshness. He drained his cup again, seemed to consider pouring himself another, then set the cup on the table and turned to look at her. His hands clenched in his lap. "How much did Buffy tell you?"

"She said the whole thing, with her getting weaker and the vampire, that it was a test of some sort, by some sort of Council. Your Council. And that they fired you for interfering. Which, I suppose I might understand, but...I know now, when Buffy isn't telling me everything. And I just want to make sure...I want to understand. As much as I can, at least."

"Indeed. That is fair, I suppose." He sighed, then looked away from her.

She waited, content to let him speak at his own pace. She suspected Buffy would be preoccupied with her friends for a while, and she'd asked them to make sure her daughter rested.

Finally, he spoke again, his voice low and hoarse, matching the pain in his eyes. "There is a test, known as the Cruciamentum. It is administered to Slayers who reach their eighteenth birthday. Why I don't know. It seems...barbaric to me, to issue such a test, especially when so few Slayers actually survive to that age. But, the Council assures me that there are reasons for such protocols. Though I suppose that's rather pointless now." He sighed, his head bowing.

After a moment, he continued. "During the week prior to the test, the Slayer's Watcher induces a trance, once a day, during which he or she injects a mix of muscle relaxants and adrenal suppressors, to weaken the Slayer, to reduce her strength to that of a normal mortal. The mix also suppresses her other powers, such as her sensitivity and her foresight. Basically, it renders her a normal human girl, in every sense of the word save her experience." A bitter smile twisted his face.

"And?" She couldn't help prompting him, guessing that he could sink very easily into another state of self-loathing reflection if she let him.

He jerked to look at her, then away. It was just long enough for her to see the sharp agony that the memories caused him, before he turned from her again.

"After a week has passed, on the Slayer's birthday, the Watcher takes his charge to a pre-designated place and leaves her there. Leaves her trapped, with a vampire provided by the Council. If the Slayer survives, she passes the test. At least, that's how it's supposed to work."

"I take it something went wrong with Buffy's test."

He huffed, another brief burst of bitter laughter. "Several things went wrong. The vampire the Council chose was a particularly vile specimen. Even before his transformation, he was a rapist, a serial killer, a murderer of young women. And they underestimated his cunning entirely, assuming that the migraines that lingered from life into his immortal life would render him controllable, manageable. Instead, he used them as a deception to facilitate his escape. He tricked and killed his handlers. One of them he turned. The others he mutilated in a horrendous fashion. So horrendous I was very nearly...quite ill, when I discovered the remains."

He looked so pale that Joyce took it upon herself to pour him another drink, then press it into his hands. He took it, shooting her another pained glance. "Thank you. The memory is quite unpleasant."

"I can imagine." Just the idea of seeing her co-workers, her friends, dead and mutilated made her stomach churn. She couldn't imagine what the actual experience had been like. She sat back, content to give him space to collect himself.

He sipped his drink, one, two, three swallows, then began again. "At that point, when I discovered the death and turning of my compatriots, I raced to warn Buffy. The test has never called for a vampire who was free to move beyond the confines of the prison he was set in. Nor for there to be multiple vampires. And, as I could not convince my superior to abandon the test, I was determined to warn her. I realized that, even if the only threat had been Kralik, I could not send her unwarned and unprotected into danger. So...I found Buffy. And I told her. Everything."

His voice cracked, hands clenched around his glass so hard she thought he might shatter it. Even in the sideways profile view she had of his face, she could see his pain. "She didn't react well, I take it."

"No. She was...quite furious. She quite correctly accused me of betraying her, poisoning her. She said...she said she no longer knew nor trusted me. In fact, she despised my presence so greatly, she turned to Cordelia Chase for comfort, in spite of the rather...tumultuous relationship that both girls share." His head bent, despair lacing his posture and his voice. "I believe that, in that moment, she truly hated me, as much as she could have hated any vampire, if not more."

The breath he heaved out seemed to carry the weight of the world. "My confession should have made the test invalid. It should have resulted in the Council removing the vampire, or so I believed would happen. Certainly, it meant I was no longer bound by my oath of non-interference. But, of course, it was far from the end of the matter. Because..." He turned to look at her, regret clear on his face. "Because Kralik kidnapped you. And Buffy, being who she is, immediately went after you, even knowing the dangers and the possible consequences."

Joyce nodded. "She came after me, and I guess you came after her."

"To even the odds, yes. As I said, the test was never meant to incorporate multiple vampires."

"So, she rescued me and killed this... this Kralik. You killed the other one. And then the two of you were whisked away, and the next thing I knew, you were fired." She paused. "Because you interfered with the test by telling Buffy?"

"In part. Though that was not the reason Quentin gave." He looked away again, undertones of something other than grief flickering through his tone. Uncertainty.

"Oh? And what reason did he give you?"

"I...he said..." Giles paused, then abruptly tossed back the rest of his drink. "The reason he gave..."

"Yes?" It surprised her to see him suddenly so inarticulate. She wondered if he'd drunk enough to impair his vocal abilities.

He looked at her then, a painful smile twisting his features, anguish so bright in his eyes that it hurt to meet his gaze. "A father's love."

"What?" She frowned.

He shoved himself to his feet, turning away from her, turning to the counter to lean against it. "I was dismissed because, according to the Council, I care too much for Buffy's welfare. Because I love her, as if she were my own child, and my concern for her has rendered me incapable of remaining objective and serving the greater cause."

Joyce sat, stunned for a few moments, processing that information.

She knew that Giles and Buffy cared for each other. That much had been obvious. She'd known, even before she'd discovered that Buffy was the Slayer and Giles was her Watcher, that the two of them shared a relationship that went far beyond the customary student-teacher dynamic. It had been evident in the way he was constantly at her side, even visiting with her in the hospital. In the way that Buffy constantly spoke about him, affectionate and amused and even exasperated by terms, but always warmly. Never with more than a hint of a pout when he'd made her do her homework. Or, as she now knew, her training.

Over the past year, Buffy had talked more of Giles, gone more to Giles, than she had her own father. In fact, she'd planned to ask Giles to accompany her to the ice show that both of her natural parents had blown off. Joyce recalled Buffy mentioning it, that her father had canceled, and that she had thought to ask Giles.

Buffy had gone to comfort Giles, after the loss of his...the lady he'd been seeing. His fellow teacher, who had been killed. And it wasn't the first time, if she'd understood Buffy and Willow's jumbled story about Eyghon correctly, that she had gone to comfort the librarian. Comfort and aid him in his personal struggles.

And Giles had moved heaven and earth hunting for Buffy after her disappearance over the summer.

When she thought about it, it really wasn't that big of a stretch. Certainly less of a shock than discovering her daughter was the Slayer, destined to hunt monsters, and had been since she was fifteen. Which really only left one question.

She stood and walked around the couch to stand next to him. "Was he right?"

Giles stiffened, head twisting to look at her, surprise replacing some of the strain on his features. "I beg your pardon?"

"Was he right? Do you love my daughter? Do you feel like you should be her father?"

He flinched, hearing the slight accusation she couldn't quite keep out of her voice on the last sentence. "Assuming I haven't already become her worst enemy, I wouldn't presume to take the place of either you or her birth father. But...yes. Quentin was right." He met her eyes. "I do care for Buffy, quite as much as I would for my own child, if I had one. I would...well, I suppose my recent actions would say otherwise..." He offered her another one of those bitter smiles. "Whether Buffy believes it or not, I would move the world for her. If I could take this destiny, this power, from her in truth, and she asked me to, I would do so in a heartbeat. I would walk into hell for her. Die for her. I would sell my soul and break every chain of prophecy, every rule of destiny, if it were possible. If I had not feared the Council's dismissal and subsequent removal of my person from Sunnydale, I would never have considered even beginning the Cruciamentum." His hands clenched hard on the counter.

He meant every word. She could see it in his eyes, in the rigid set of his shoulders. She could hear it in the passionate roughness of his voice, the conviction that cracked the words with the force of his emotion.

She laid a hand on his arm. "Okay." He looked at her, silent and waiting for her judgment. Joyce considered. "So...what happens now? You said Buffy will get a new Watcher?"

"Indeed. The Council will select one for her, if they haven't already." He sighed, collapsing towards the counter as if the strength had been drained from him.

"Come on." Joyce took his arm and guided him back to his seat. Giles went with her, seemingly spent. She got him settled, then sat beside him. "So...this new Watcher..."

"Will conform to the Council's ideal of proper behavior and objectivity. I cannot say anything more without knowing who they have chosen, but I can tell you that much." His words were heavy with his exhaustion.

"But you don't think he'll care for Buffy."

"Oh, he'll care for her. As a weapon, as a...a tool. As the Chosen One, the Slayer. As such, he may deign to offer her some support, and he will be as considerate of her requirements as is necessary to maintain a proper working relationship. But if you are asking me if he will care for her life, her happiness, over her destiny and responsibilities...I highly doubt it. Especially not with the example of my disgrace to dissuade him. I don't think anyone the Council appoints will care for Buffy as a person, as an individual, as the special and unique person she is." He sighed. "My only consolation is that I will be on hand, at least somewhat, to offer her at least a limited amount of assistance. I can at least help her with research. And, I suppose..." He smiled, this one weary and knowing rather than bitter. "It is some consolation that your daughter is a remarkably stubborn individual, who will likely try any future Watcher's patience and temperament fully as much as she tried mine in the beginning. And who knows, she may well break this one into being a relatively decent human being and support for her as well, through sheer force of will. It is a gift of hers, after all."

"I suppose. But what will you do?"

"Help as I can." He sighed. "How much I can do will depend on Buffy herself, and the personality of the Watcher who is sent to guide her." He folded his hands together. "It's ironic. I was furious when I learned that she had developed habits of keeping things from me. But now, I find myself hoping she has maintained that skill, if only to evade her Watcher in the case that he attempts to prevent contact between us altogether."

"That, I can perfectly understand." Joyce smiled, taking the sting out of the words.

He flicked a startled, chagrined look at her. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you would." A shy smile emerged to match hers.

Joyce sipped her drink. "Is there...is there anything you can do? To prevent Buffy's new Watcher from preventing you from helping her?"

Giles frowned. Joyce watched him thinking, her own thoughts circling in her head.

She didn't want someone who didn't properly appreciate Buffy in charge of her daughter's welfare. She didn't particularly like the whole 'Slayer' concept to begin with. She certainly didn't like the idea that it was her daughter's job to fight vampires and demons and monsters, in addition to trying to maintain her grades and finish school. She didn't like the idea that Buffy was in danger every time she left the house, or every time trouble came to find her.

But at least she knew Buffy was watched over by someone who cared about her. Someone who wanted her safe, wanted her to be happy. Someone who let her have friends, after-school activities, a life outside of killing and hunting and fighting. Someone who helped Buffy's friends, who helped incorporate them into Buffy's world, rather than forcing her to be alienated from everyone. Buffy was lonely enough as it was.

She didn't want to contemplate her daughter working as a Slayer without that support. Without the help and comfort of the man she'd grown so fond of, so dependent on. The man who would not only help her research the 'demon-of-the-week' as Xander put it, but had comforted her daughter and bandaged Buffy's wounds with gentle hands. The man who managed to integrate training her with helping her with her schoolwork, patrols with chances to go clubbing, or hang out and watch silly movies.

Giles sighed, scrubbing his face. "I fear I have little influence over what happens now. I may be able to gain some ground, by virtue of my superior knowledge after two years on the Hellmouth and as Buffy's Watcher. But unless her new Watcher is a complete incompetent, I doubt I shall be able to maintain the superior position for long. And even if I could, the Council would most likely intervene."

"But you're Buffy's friend. Buffy's friends help her out all the time."

"Indeed. And if I were just Buffy's friend, if I had always been just Buffy's friend, I would, ironically, have a great deal more freedom. Unfortunately, Buffy's friends now have more freedom to assist her than I do. As I mentioned before, should the Council decide that I am overly involved, they will most likely take pains to remove me from Sunnydale, and possibly from the country as well."

Joyce nodded. "Is there any way around that? I mean, you mentioned a visa..."

"A work visa, yes. It was obtained and expedited through Council channels, and can be revoked just as quickly. Sadly, I never considered it worth the effort to obtain a citizenship card. Nor was I blessed with an abundance of time to do so. And, of course, the Council might have seen to it that it was denied, in case they came to the conclusion that I was needed elsewhere. I certainly doubt it would be permitted now."

"There has to be some way. Some...loophole."

Giles sighed. "I fear not. Unless we could somehow produce documents that prove me to be family to Buffy. Family, even or perhaps especially the family of a Slayer, is sacrosanct. But the Council will have investigated that beforehand. I doubt I would have been assigned as her Watcher if there had been the remotest of blood ties between myself and her."

Joyce considered.

She knew of one way to form a family tie. One that he apparently hadn't considered, or had at least rejected. Well, there were probably lots of ideas that he'd considered that she'd never even heard of, but she knew of one that was legal, recognized by any group in the world. Well, any civilized group.

She studied his profile. He was wearing layers, as usual. No suit jacket, but a vest, a button down shirt, and most likely an undershirt. Still, she could clearly see the outlines of broad shoulders, and a lean, muscular body. From what she remembered of the Band Candy incident, he was strong, well muscled in a lithe way that suited him. Training Buffy and protecting the town had kept him in better shape than most men his age.

He was also well educated, intelligent. He liked history. And art, even if his interest ran more to the occult value of it, rather than the historic or cultural. He was well read in a fascinating variety of subjects. She'd heard Buffy comment that he was an almost decent cook, if you could get his head out of the library. He had good taste in furniture, and she'd liked what she'd heard of his music, though she wasn't sure about his taste in casual literature or movies, and definitely thought he needed a slight wardrobe alteration. And he had a pleasant enough personality. She'd been vaguely attracted to him when they'd met, but had never bothered to pursue it, uncertain about the safety of a parent-teacher relationship, and informed by her daughter that he'd developed a 'thing' for the school computer teacher.

She could do worse. Buffy could certainly do worse. And hadn't she recently lamented the absence of a strong adult male role model in her daughter's life?

She reached out and touched his arm. Giles startled, jolted out of whatever he'd been thinking. He blinked, then his expression turned sheepish. "My apologies for drifting off. I was...well, I was woolgathering, I suppose. Thinking." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, making it stand up in wild disarray. "We were discussing my role, or rather possible lack of one, in Buffy's future."

"We were. And I had a thought." She paused, making sure she had his full attention. "Have you ever considered marriage?"

 _ **Author's Note:** I've always thought the end of 'Helpless' was kind of sweet. I rewatched it recently, and this story just quietly came into being. _

_Hope you enjoy._


	2. Chapter 2: An Interesting Proposal

**Chapter** **Two:** **An** **Interesting** **Proposal**

Giles stared at her. Then he removed his glasses, polishing them on a handkerchief he fumbled out of a hip pocket before he slipped them back onto his face. "I...I beg your pardon?"

"Marriage. It's valid. It's legal. It's fairly easy. Just a simple legal ceremony wouldn't take more than an hour. Have you ever considered it?"

"I...well...I...I haven't…." He shook his head. "There was...you know about Jenny. Beyond her...I hadn't...well, I haven't truly had time since losing her..." He stopped and took a deep breath. "I..."

He took another breath, composing himself. "I assume that you are aware, through Buffy, that I had at one time entertained thoughts of marriage for romantic reasons, to Miss Calendar." She nodded. He paused. "Am I to assume that you now wish to know if I had entertained thoughts of marriage for more practical purposes?"

"I suppose you could put it like that. I guess what I meant to ask was if you would consider it, for Buffy's sake." Joyce swallowed. Somehow, the whole thing had sounded much less awkward and ridiculous in her head, before she'd spoken the idea aloud.

"Well, there aren't a great number of candidates for marriage in my life at present. And, as I can only hope you weren't suggesting I marry a complete stranger, I assume you were speaking of a union between..." He swallowed. "Between you and I."

"I...well, yes, that was the idea. I mean, we both care about Buffy. And it would make you a member of Buffy's family. You did say that was the only loophole you knew of in this...this Council's control." Joyce flushed.

"Indeed." Giles frowned, then he scrubbed his hands over his face, dislodging his glasses. He yanked them off irritably, rubbing at his brow. Then he rose, shuffling in place, pacing the limited space of his living room. Joyce let him pace, watching him and trying to gauge what he was thinking.

Finally he stopped and turned to her, his eyes tired. "Joyce…I..." he sighed, then sat down on the couch next to her. "The truth is, you are a lovely woman. Exasperating at times, I suppose, but then I find most people to be that way, especially the ones I develop fondness for, your daughter being a prime example."

He sighed again. "Prior to this...as Buffy's Watcher, I would never have dared to approach you. Not for more than friendship, not unless…unless I had taken leave of my senses." He blushed.

Joyce blushed as well, remembering the band candy incident once again. "You're saying I was off limits."

"If you wish to look at it that way. And I did have a genuine relationship with Miss Calendar, for the time it lasted." He sighed. "If I must be blunt, no. I hadn't considered...and now…you deserve better than to be used as a method to secure my place at Buffy's side."

"That doesn't have to be everything that's between us. Personally, now that I've had time to adjust to Buffy's...slayer duties…and your place in her life, I..." She blushed, fiddling with her hands in her lap. "Well, I've thought you were fairly good looking ever since you walked into my hospital room that one time. But I wasn't sure it was ethical, to pursue one of Buffy's teachers. And then, Buffy mentioned you were involved with someone, and so I just put it out of my mind. And then the whole thing with Buffy being a slayer came up, and you were so involved with that..."

"And you were quite rightly furious with me." He nodded.

"I was. But you tried so hard to find her. And then, afterward, we were...well, sort of friends, I think. And then the incident with the chocolate…" She blushed again.

"Yes. Quite." It was some consolation that his face was as flushed as hers.

"The point is, I know I have...some attraction to you. Physically and otherwise. So...I think...I think..." She looked up into his face, into the dark hazel eyes. Expressive eyes. She'd noticed that about him. "I think we could make this not all about Buffy. If we wanted to. If you wanted to."

"If I wanted..." He muttered the words, then shook his head. "This cannot be about what I want. Not this. As I said, you deserve better."

"Better than what?" She'd never had much luck dating. Only one real relationship, with Buffy's father, and she never even saw the man any more. And for all that they had attempted to be amiable for their daughter's sake, the marriage had been broken long before their divorce.

"Better than...well...better than me." Giles flushed and looked away.

"What? You mean better than a man who understands my daughter, who won't go crazy every time Buffy says or does something...different? Which she will do, because of this...slayer thing. Better than a man that understands that my daughter has a unique destiny, and won't get on Buffy's case, or mine, for the way she acts? Better than someone who can actually navigate that line between letting Buffy do what she needs to, and getting her to do her classwork, and still have an actual life? The kind of life a teenage girl is supposed to have?"

"Well, that's all very important. But you deserve someone who...well, compatibility with Buffy shouldn't be the only thing between you. You deserve a man who..."

"Who appreciates it when I cook dinner, but doesn't laugh at me when all I can muster is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Who likes tea and coffee? That I can actually hold a meaningful discussion with about my work, or my interests? A man I can talk to about art, or history, or music, or even that book I picked up last week at the store while I was browsing?" She sighed. "For that matter, a man who appreciates the way I look, how I dress?"

"Yes. Yes indeed. You deserve someone like that. And someone who will love you."

"Well, love aside, I've only really met one man who fits those requirements and didn't turn out to be a demon, or a robot." She paused, and he looked up at her, wide-eyed, with just a spark of trepidation shining in his eyes. "You."

"I...perhaps. But the last point...it is important. To be married without love..."

"You think love is impossible? Between us?" The thought stung a little. He'd seemed to like her looks before, he certainly enjoyed her cooking, and they certainly had a lot in common on other fronts.

"I...I don't know." He winced. "Truly, Joyce, I mean no insult to you. It's just...it hasn't been that long since Jenny, and...while I do find you attractive, in several ways, I have not yet recovered enough of my emotional balance to contemplate romantic entanglement just yet. And I do not think the matter of the Council can be delayed long enough for me to recover my equilibrium. And I would not...shackle you that way."

Part of her was hurt. But then, she'd always been one to appreciate candor. At least he was being honest with her, and she knew the risks. That was better than her previous marriage. And he was trying so hard to be considerate of her. A true gentleman.

She touched his shoulder, gently, to get his attention. "We could always split up later, if it didn't work out. I mean, it's not like we're going into this as...as star-struck young idiots. Think of it as...a trial period, just with a little more paperwork. I understand living together on a trial basis is the in thing these days."

"I...it wouldn't be proper..." He stopped, then laughed a little, some of the tension draining out of his shoulders. "Unless we were wed, of course."

"Which would set a good example for Buffy, and for her friends." Truth be told, it would make her feel better too. She liked to think she was a modern, progressive woman, but living with a man without being married to him was a bit much for her.

"Indeed." He looked at her, eyes simmering in the low light with a thousand tangled emotions she couldn't begin to sort out. "You...you would truly wish to consider this? And to go through with it? For Buffy's sake?"

"And yours. And mine." She smiled. "I'll be honest, it kind of drives me a little crazy, when Buffy disappears and I don't know if she's with you, or with her friends out clubbing, or out patrolling, or actually in trouble. It would be easier if I didn't have to make five different phone calls trying to track down my daughter every time she disappears. Or wait for her to finally remember to tell me when something big is happening."

That startled a weak smile out of him. "Yes. I...I quite see your point."

"And we are compatible. In more ways than just Buffy and physically. That's more than I had with Buffy's father."

"I'll have to take your word for it." He pulled off his glasses and polished them again. She was beginning to recognize the gesture as a nervous tic. "Although, I do take your point in that our interests and chosen professions are somewhat aligned."

"I think we could make it work. And I think, for all our sakes, especially Buffy's, that we should try." She hadn't come here intending to propose marriage, of all things, to the man. In fact, she was a little shocked that she had done so. But she had come here to find out what was happening in her daughter's life, and to do whatever it took to make her daughter as safe and happy as possible.

Besides, he was a rather handsome and intelligent man, the kind she liked. And given the secrets in her family, where else would she find a man who understood?

"I...I am willing to try, if you are." Giles swallowed. "Though I still feel as if I am taking advantage of you..."

"Don't. I proposed this idea. Not you. If anything, I'm taking advantage of you."

"If you say so. I suppose the feeling will go away in time. Particularly if things go well." He sighed. "But, before I agree, I must insist that we tell Buffy and gain her consent. Right now, she is very angry with me." He shook his head, ducking away from her. "I would not force myself into her life without her consent and approval."

She could see what he meant. After all, she'd been rather angry with him for a while herself, until she'd heard how he'd been fired for caring for her daughter. Until she'd seen the anguish in his eyes. "Of course."

"There is...one more thing. If I may." He looked up at her then. "I should like to be the one to tell Buffy. I have...well, there is a great deal I need to say to her, including offering my apologies. I...I would wish to say them. And if she rejects me, then so be it. Nothing of what we discussed here tonight goes forward without Buffy's approval."

"Of course. I understand." And she did. She remembered what it had been like, when Buffy had come home. The silences, the awkwardness. The pain of hasty words and hastier judgments. If they were going to become a family, it shouldn't be one filled with tension and misery like that.

"Very well then. I suppose we should go speak to Buffy." He rose, gave her a hand up from the couch, then turned away to find a jacket. Then he stopped and turned back. "Joyce." She met his gaze. He swallowed hard. "Thank you. For everything." His voice tremored slightly on on the words, a mirror to the emotions churning in his eyes.

She smiled. "You're welcome. And thank you."

 _ **Author's Note:** So...who was expecting that? And what do you think?_


	3. Chapter 3: Distressing Conversation

**Chapter** **Three:** **Distressing** **Conversation**

Rupert Giles climbed the stairs slowly, cautiously.

He still ached, especially his face and back, where he'd cracked into (and partially through) the wall. Still, the ache was barely noticeable, compared to the twisting in his gut.

He hadn't expected Joyce to visit him. Especially not after discovering what he'd done.

He certainly hadn't expected her to hear him out through the emotional outburst that had been stewing for hours, perhaps days, and then offer him a way out of his current conundrum. And, quite possibly, offer him the thing he most wanted. A role in Buffy's life, now that his link to her as her Watcher was severed.

Of course, that was assuming Buffy would allow it. She had been so angry when she had discovered his treachery. And while he took it as a good sign that she had let him bathe her wounds after the ordeal, he was by no means fooled into thinking that everything was mended between them.

For that matter, the fact that her friends were downstairs, being entertained by Joyce, and Buffy was up hiding in her room didn't bode particularly well either.

He stopped at her door and took a deep breath to compose himself. His heart felt trapped in his throat. He swallowed once, twice, then knocked hesitantly.

"Yeah." Buffy's voice was softer than he was used to, but stronger than it had been the last time he had seen her. That was good.

He opened the door, just enough to reveal himself standing in the doorway. "Buffy?"

Buffy blinked at him from a mound of blankets and pillows. "Giles?"

"Yes. I...I was wondering...if I might have a word. I...there's something I need to discuss with you, and I...well, I..." He felt awkward, standing in the hall, while she stared at him with wide eyes from her bed. "I...well, I should hope it's not too forward of me, but this is rather private...might I come in?" Once, he would not have needed to ask.

Once, Buffy would have trusted him without question.

"Sure. Shut the door though." Buffy curled up tighter in the bed, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, arms wrapped around a pillow behind her drawn up knees. She looked young, small and fragile.

"As you wish." He stepped inside, shut the door behind him, then made a tentative approach to the bed. Buffy watched him, and he wound up stopping a few steps away. He felt as if he was approaching a wild or half-feral animal, a frightened one. "I...how are you feeling?"

"Tired. Sore." She paused. "Weak."

"Yes. Well. It should pass. Within the next day or so. You'll be back to your old self within no time, I'm sure." He cursed himself for his fumbling tongue, for how hard it was to get the proper words out.

"I hope so." Her voice was small.

Suddenly, it was all too much. "You will. I swear it. You will." He broke then, striding forward to kneel beside her bed. "Buffy, I am so, so terribly sorry. So terribly sorry. I cannot...there are no words, in any language on this earth, that will convey how sorry I am for what I have done to you. I would sell my soul if I could go back in time and prevent what I have done to you." He wished he dared reach out and take her hand, the way he had in the library while tending her wounds. "I realize that this is scant consolation, that you most likely hate me. You have every right to hate me, for the suffering I have inflicted, and the danger I put you and your family in. But...I wanted you to know..."

"I don't hate you." The words were quiet, but enough to shock him speechless for a moment.

"What?"

Buffy looked at him over the mound of pillows. "I don't hate you. I mean, I kind of feel betrayed, and I'm certainly angry, or at least I was before you, well, saved me I guess. But I don't hate you."

He ducked away from her words. "That's kind of you to say..."

"Totally true." She paused. "You know, this conversation would be whole worlds of less awkward if you'd sit in the chair instead of kneeling beside my bed." She hesitated. "Seriously Giles. Not kneeling would totally be a good thing right now."

"Wha...oh. Of course. As you wish." He forced himself to move into the overstuffed armchair next to the bed. "Buffy...I appreciate your kindness..."

"It's not kindness. It's truth." He looked at her, and the young slayer shrugged. "Honestly, I was thinking about it earlier, and it's kind of...what do they call it? Poetic justice, or something like that?" She scrunched her nose up in thought.

The words hit him low in the gut. "I beg your pardon? What is poetic justice?"

She looked at him, her mouth trying for a smile that left far too much raw vulnerability in her eyes. "You know. That thing, where you get what you give. Karma, poetic justice."

"I understand the concept. I simply fail to see it's relevance to our current conversation." At least, he hoped he did.

"You know." She shrugged, then winced as the movement tugged bruised muscles. "Poetic justice. I don't tell you about Angel coming back, you put me through this whole test thingy without telling me. Angel kills your girlfriend. Council vampire nearly kills my mother. It's kind of got that whole, poetic 'you messed me up, I messed you up' feel to it, doesn't it?"

He'd been right, and the knowledge twisted in his stomach like a knife. "Buffy..."

She kept going, oblivious to his speaking of her name, venting thoughts that must have been simmering since the Cruciamentum. "You know, I wanted to be angry. Like, for forever, cause you poisoned me. But then I thought about how you felt with the whole Angel thing, and how much that kind of sucked on both sides. Back then, I was kind of wondering how I'd feel if situations were reversed." She looked at her hands, fiddling with a string from one of her pillowcases. "I guess now I kind of get it."

He felt like he'd been sucker-punched, perhaps by a vampire or minor demon. "Buffy...you truly feel that way?" The thought hurt, on so many levels.

"I guess. I mean, I've kind of been thinking about it for hours. But I'm still kind of wigged out and hurt and confused." She looked at him over the top of her pillow again. "I was just...I was so scared, and then I was wondering what if my Slayer calling was a mistake, and how much that would suck, and then I realized you'd been told that your calling was being considered a mistake, and that really did sound like it sucked. And everything just...you know...it kind of reminded me of getting expelled, at the end of school last year."

"Buffy..." He stopped. She looked at him with sad eyes. He looked away, flustered. He wrenched his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to wipe away the pain enough so that he could think.

Undoubtedly, part of the cause of her train of thought was due to his own reaction, when he'd discovered Angel was alive, returned from hell. Coupled with everything else…it was no wonder she'd had such troubling thoughts.

He looked back at her. "You truly think that the Cruciamentum, and my role in it, was some sort of bizarre form of...retribution?"

"Not really." She shrugged again, the movement smaller this time. "It just...it feels like it might be."

"What was done, this test...it is not some form of divine retribution. It was a farce, a travesty."

"So was what happened to you." Her voice was so small, it broke his heart.

"What happened to me was not the same." His voice came out a little harsher than he'd intended, and Buffy shrank back into the pillows a little. He sighed. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be." The tiny uncertainty in her voice made a lie of the words.

"I do. And I am." He sighed again, then, acting on instinct, set his glasses to the side, folding his hands over his knee. "You know, we've never really talked about it. About what happened. About Angel, and the end of last year. I always meant to speak with you about it, but by the time I left the hospital, you were gone. And by the time we found you again, or rather, by the time you returned home to us, other events were in motion. And it was all so terribly awkward, so terribly painful, that it seemed better to simply leave the past lie, rather than drag ourselves through it all again. And yet, I knew better. I should have done, at least."

"I didn't want to."

"Nor did I. No more do I now. But, I think, before anything else can be done, before anything between us can be settled, the events of last May must be spoken of. Particularly if you feel that what happened over your birthday was some sort of divine punishment. Or worse, a punishment that I devised for you."

"Giles..."

"Please...Buffy..." He stopped. He couldn't force her into this. He looked up at her. "I know you don't want to speak of Angel. Of any of it. And I know I am in no position to ask you for any form of...of charity at this time. And I certainly no longer have any authority to issue you any form of command. But...all I ask, here and now, is that you listen to me speak, and make whatever response seems best to you. And afterward, if you wish for me to leave, if you wish to never hear from me again, than I shall grant you that wish. In contrast, if you wish for something else...well, I shall endeavor to do all I can to grant that wish as well." His voice was wavering, but he put no effort into steadying it.

"Okay." Buffy curled a little tighter, but her posture changed. Less defensive, more listening.

He considered, lining up words inside his head. After a moment, he folded his hands together, focusing his gaze on the opposite wall. It was easier that way, as it had been with her mother earlier in the day.

"You have a gift, Buffy. An extraordinary gift, to see inside the heart of a person, to see who they truly are, deep within their soul. It is not foolproof, but it remarkably accurate. You go out of your way to find and befriend those people who need you, or who carry that special, unique spark inside them. People like Xander, and Willow. Even Cordelia, to some extent. You see the value in people the rest of the world does not, and the good in people that the rest of the world would condemn."

"That's me. Magnet for Rejects and Freaks Anonymous."

"Your gift is not a joke. It is very real, and very powerful, and very worthwhile. It let you see Willow's intelligence, and Xander's loyalty, Cordelia's peculiar brand of wisdom and insight. Oz's heart. It let you..." His voice roughened, and he had to duck his head. "It let you come to me, in my darkest hour, in the moment of my greatest shame, and offer compassion and understanding, and forgiveness, even as young as you are."

"Are we talking the Eyghon thing?"

"There are other moments. But yes." he heaved out a breath, forced himself to regain control of his breathing. "Your unique gift lets you see all these things. And it let you see the soul of a vampire. The soul of the man known as Angel. A gift that, even when I considered him an ally and a friend, I did not share. None of us did. None of us do."

"Giles..."

"Please. Buffy. Please." She subsided. He laced his hands together, trying to navigate the coil of twisting emotions in him. It had cooled a little, with the passage of time, but it was still so painful to touch that he had to work to keep himself breathing steadily.

"Even when I considered him an ally, I also considered Angel a vampire, a monster. Unlike you, I never truly differentiated between Angel and Angelus. For me, his transformation was a betrayal, nothing more, nothing less. And then..."

He gulped back the tears that thickened his voice and made his throat ache. "You know, of course, that Angelus killed Jenny. That he kidnapped and tortured me. For hours, for information on the ritual of Acathla, and for the sheer joy of torturing me. What you do not know, what you cannot know, because I have never revealed it to anyone, save perhaps inadvertently to Xander, is what Angel did to me, in the final hour before your arrival."

"What?" Her voice was both pained and shocked. Shocked, because of what he revealed. But the pain, he knew, was for both himself and Angel. For what she was learning her one-time lover had done, and for what he had endured.

He forced himself to continue. "He had Drusilla cast an illusion. A spell. She made herself seem like Jenny. As though Jenny had returned."

A shocked intake of breath. "Giles..."

He shook his head, and she fell silent. "I had been tortured for so long. I was weak and dehydrated and starved, half delirious. I tell myself that if I had not been, I never would have succumbed. But the truth is, I don't know. Perhaps I would not have fallen prey to her. Or perhaps, the lure of seeing Jenny again, no matter how it came about, would have proved too strong, regardless of my condition when the spell was cast. I don't know. I will never know. Regardless, I did succumb. I told her, and therefore Angel, what he needed to know to complete the ritual to wake Acathla. And then Jenny was gone, and Drusilla was in her place, and I knew I had been tricked. And that I had betrayed, possibly doomed, both you and the world. And I have no words, no way, to express the shame I felt, the shame I still feel, at knowing that." He sighed, burying his head in his hands. "Nor can I erase the anger, and the...the fury, the anguish, of knowing that the same...being, creature, man...that the demon who murdered Jenny also used her image to force me to betray everything and everyone I still held dear."

He stopped once more to collect his thoughts. "I thought I had dealt with it. That there was some comfort in knowing that Angel, or Angelus, had paid for his sins. And then you vanished, and I realized that there was a price for vengeance as well. And then you returned, and Angel returned..."

"And you discovered that dealt with wasn't so...dealt with." Buffy's voice was gentle, far gentler than he expected.

"Indeed. And I lashed out at you. I was hurt, and angry at your silence, but even more so, I was terrified, and I was ashamed. And I could not bear for you to see the latter, so I attacked you with the former. But I knew, even then, that it wasn't your fault. That you were in a terrible situation, facing choices that no young girl your age should ever have to face, living with experiences that would give even the most seasoned Watchers nightmares. Dealing with things that I'm not sure I could ever have survived, let alone come through as nearly intact as you have. And I knew that your gift would lead you to see things that I could not. I would have said that love blinded you, but even then I knew...it wasn't true." A bitter smile cracked his face. "I never took time to discuss it with you, but I was never, never truly angry with you. More angry with myself than anything."

"I know."

He looked up. "I'm sorry?"

"I know. I knew. Well, not all of it...but I could tell there was more to it than just...mad and disappointed Giles. It's kind of a different tone of voice entirely." She offered him a sad smile.

"Still..."

"Still okay. I mean...I know what that's like." Buffy tucked her blanket tighter around herself, looking suddenly lost again.

Instinct made him rise, move to sit on the bed, a hand outstretched in consolation. He touched her shoulder lightly, and she didn't draw away. "Buffy...if there is anything you wish to tell me...anything you can tell me...I am more than willing to listen."

Several moments of silence followed the slowly, haltingly, she began to talk.

"I knew, you know. I really was stalling on the whole Angel thing. I mean, he was smarter and he knew more about me than any other vampire, but the same was true on my end as well. I just...didn't want to kill him." She shrugged, looking like nothing more than a lost child. "And then he hurt Willow, hurt Xander, killed Jenny. Hurt you. And there wasn't any more time to wait. He had hurt everyone I loved. And he was going to destroy the world, and I had no choice."

She pulled the blanket around herself. "It was all such a nightmare. And then you got kidnapped, and Kendra got killed. And my mom found out I was the Slayer. I was trying to save the world, and the police were accusing me of murder, and then I got expelled and my mom threw me out of the house."

"It must have felt like the whole world had turned against you." He felt his heart breaking for his young slayer. Only seventeen, and so much to bear on her shoulders.

He knew about everything already, but hearing her lay it out in that quiet tired voice made it hit home again. Especially knowing the way it had affected her thinking.

"It did, kinda. And all I could do was kill Angel, and hope everyone else would be all right." She looked up at him. "Thing is, I kind of...I still cared for him. And I was still hoping that Willow or...or somebody, might be able to revert him back to normal. Back to my Angel."

"Because of Jenny's spell."

"Yeah. But I couldn't wait for it to happen. So I went after Angel. With Xander and Spike. Spike was supposed to handle Drusilla. Xander was supposed to rescue you. And I went to kill my ex. When I was planning, it seemed so simple. But it wasn't."

"No. It...I suppose it never truly is."

"Nope." She hugged herself, wrapped in folds of comforter. He almost put his arm around her, but two years of watching over her had taught him that she wouldn't appreciate it yet. Not until she'd finished with what she needed to say.

After a minute, she continued. "Xander got you out. Spike got Drusilla. And then it was just me, Angel, and the Acathla guy. Angel started the ritual to release him from the statue."

"I recall that being mentioned."

"Yeah. And we were fighting. He was pretty tough, and sword fighting isn't much my thing."

"It is an area of your training that has been rather neglected. Given your proficiency with hand to hand and long-distance weapons, I thought it better to hone your natural inclinations, rather than worry overmuch about expanding your repertoire."

"I did okay. Held my own, at least. And then..." She stopped. "And then he froze. And something...some light or something, came back into his eyes. And he was my Angel again. Confused, surprised, hurting. Worried about me." She looked up at him. "I know I told you all this before, but, you know...I didn't even know Willow was going to try the spell again. She was in the hospital at the time. I didn't even think she could."

Giles bit his tongue. He knew, from scattered conversation, that Xander had known. Buffy should have known. Unless Xander had discovered afterward. Or had simply failed to tell her. He didn't dare speculate which.

Buffy needed her friends.

Buffy kept talking, oblivious to his moment of turmoil. "He was Angel, and he was there. And all I wanted to do was kiss him and tell him it was all right. But...the demon was coming, and according to the books..."

"The blood and life of the summoner must be spent in order to return the demon to dormancy." His stomach twisted into knots.

"Yep. So...so I hugged him. And I kissed him. And I told him it was all right, and that I loved him. And then I rammed the sword for the demon into him, through him and into the statue. The portal closed, and Angel went with it. And I will never forget the look on his face. When I stabbed him, or when he fell into hell with Acathla."

"Dear lord." The words were a breath, and half a prayer. His stomach roiled painfully at the realization of how much his slayer had been hurt. Somehow, it hadn't quite sunk in when she'd told him the first time. He'd been horrified, but then she'd stuck to the simple recitation of events, not the emotional undertones.

She looked up at him. "I couldn't stay after that."

"Understandable." He would have run away himself. "With all of that, it actually seems something of a miracle that you ever came back."

"I realized that I couldn't run away. No matter where I go, I'll always be Buffy, the Slayer." She curled the blanket a little higher around her shoulders. "I tried to be a nobody, working in a diner with a different name. And my destiny still found me. There was this...this group of demons, abducting homeless people for slave labor. And this girl. I knew her, sort of. I met her while cleaning out that vampire-worshiping cult thing. And she remembered me. She asked me to help her when her boyfriend disappeared."

"Leading you to track the demons and engage them in combat, I suppose."

"Yeah. After that, I came home. And mom let me back in, and I came back to school. Everything went back to normal. Except me. At least, that's what it felt like."

"I can imagine." To come back with that terrible knowledge, those memories inside...

"I just wanted to forget, you know? Just go back to normal. But it was so hard. I kept having these...dreams...and I felt so guilty about everything. It was just...hard."

"I know." He sighed. "Willow and I...we wanted you to talk about it. But at first...you were so reticent, and it seemed to be too soon. Perhaps it was too soon for all of us, at that time."

"Maybe." She looked at him again. "I thought I was getting over it though. I mean, I told you what happened, with Angel being cured and all. I went to leave Angel's promise ring at the mansion. To say goodbye. The nightmares started fading. And I thought that it was...well, over. As over as it ever gets, anyway."

"And then Angel returned." He found himself echoing her words. "And you discovered that dealt with...wasn't dealt with."

"Yep. And he was so weak. And I still loved him. But I knew...after everything he did...I knew what everyone else would feel. And I was just...so confused. I loved him, but I felt so guilty for killing him. And I knew I could never be with him. And he looked so sad about what happened. But I didn't think anyone would ever forgive him. And it was all just so...so confusing. So hard."

She looked at him then. "I didn't mean to keep him a secret. But I...I didn't want people hunting him for things he did while he was soulless. And I didn't want to bring all that up again. Not when everyone seemed to be getting over it. So...I never...I just...I didn't know what to do. And I couldn't ever seem to find a good time or place to bring it up. I didn't even want to."

Her eyes were sad, remorseful. "It wasn't that I didn't respect you. I just… I just didn't know what to do. And I couldn't ask you. I didn't want to hurt you any more. I didn't want to upset anyone. I thought it would be easier, if no one knew." She cringed a little. "I guess I made a mistake."

"Indeed. But I think perhaps we all did." None of them had actually really listened to her then. Not even him, when he had come to her defense.

He reached out, tentatively, offering her his embrace if she was willing to take it. She leaned into him, and he wrapped his other arm around her, offering her comfort, finding comfort in the fact that she came to him, even after all that had happened between them.

"For my part...I am sorry. I should have realized, knowing you as I do, that it was not a matter of lack of respect. That is not in your nature, in spite of your frequently flippant attitude towards all manner of authority. I know well enough what your reactions are to those for whom you hold no regard, and I should have been able and willing to differentiate. And as your Watcher, I should have realized, or at least guessed, some of the burdens you were carrying. I should have realized how terrible killing Angel would have been for you, and responded accordingly."

"Not your fault. I wasn't really in share-mode." She sighed and leaned a little further into his shoulder.

"Even so...I do apologize for my outburst and my accusations. I didn't mean to hurt you further. I would never wish to do so."

"I know. I'm sorry too." She shifted, and then he felt one arm emerge from the blankets to wrap around his waist, gentle and hesitant.

He smiled sadly. "Your capacity for forgiveness is, quite frankly, astounding."

"That's me. Special Buffy." He felt some of the sadness fade at the playful lilt in her voice. It was still shadowed by grief and hurt, but it was better than the defeated tone of an hour earlier.

"It is indeed." He dared to tighten his embrace a little further. Buffy relaxed into his hold.

Something inside him uncoiled, relaxed. He was by no means fool enough to assume everything was all right. Not then. Still, she was accepting his comfort, and his apology. And his forgiveness.

At least for now, they had cleared the air, and he was forgiven his sins.

Perhaps, just perhaps, things really would work out for them.

 _ **Author's Note:** I just thought they really needed to have this talk._


	4. Chapter 4: Promises and Plans

**Chapter** **Four:** **Promises** **and** **Plans**

They sat in silence for several minutes before Buffy sat up. "Okay...so...what did you come up here to talk about?"

Giles blinked. "I...I beg your pardon?"

"Well, I kind of don't think you came here a rehash session. I mean, if you did, it's cool, but that wasn't the vibe I was getting when you came in." She blinked at him.

"Oh. Oh yes." In the confessions of the past half-hour, he had all but forgotten the real reason he had come to Buffy's room. "Well, I did intend to apologize to you. But you are correct that it was not my only motivation for seeking you out this evening."

"Okay. So, apologies given. Unexpected sharing time covered." Giles smiled. Once, he might have been offended by her apparent flippancy in regards to what they had just shared, but he had long since learned that it was one of her coping mechanisms. There was only so much heavy discussion one could take. And in truth, he somewhat appreciated the change in atmosphere. "So...what's the big discussion point? Cause Giles in my room isn't exactly a normal thing."

"Yes. Well, I thought to speak with you in as comfortable an environment as I could. Comfortable for you, I mean. Given that the subject I need to discuss with you is likely to be somewhat...uncomfortable." He could feel his stomach clenching again. He was beginning to wonder how he'd ever let Joyce talk him into this.

"Okay." She pulled the pillow up again to wrap her elbows around it. "I'm comfortable. So share."

"Err...yes. Well." He shifted. "I think I'd do better in the chair, actually." He moved.

Buffy scrunched her nose at him. "Nervous much? You look like a boy asking his crush out."

He winced at how close the words were to his actual predicament. "Ah, yes, well...this is a matter of some delicacy…."

He cleared his throat. "I don't know if you were aware, but your mother came to see me this afternoon."

"I knew she left." Buffy frowned. "Did she yell at you?"

"No. Not hardly. Actually, she was quite...gracious to me. She merely wanted to discuss the circumstances of my dismissal as your Watcher. She was...concerned."

"She should join the club." Buffy grimaced. "I don't really want another Watcher."

"Yes, well, it is rather unavoidable now. Regardless, your mother came to me to discuss...well, to discuss the details of what had happened, and why I had been fired, and what my future role in your life was to be. My future involvement. And I told her, quite truthfully, that I would be restricted by the amount of leeway the new Watcher chose to give me. And that, did I overstep my bounds, I would most likely find myself removed from my job, possibly deported back to England."

"Harsh." Buffy grimaced.

"Indeed. But rather…typical of the Council's handling of such affairs. Your mother expressed some...disapproval of the Council and their methods. She wished to know if there were any ways to circumvent the Council's edicts."

Buffy blinked. "I didn't think there were. I mean, you seemed pretty sure this stuff was ironclad. All that talk of tradition and protocol and stuff."

"Indeed. In most circumstances, the Council is indeed rather strict. But after some discussion, your mother and I realized there is indeed one loophole that can be exploited. Something that will allow me to maintain close contact with you, to aid and advise you as I have done until now. It is however, a rather delicate matter, one which both of us agreed should not be implemented without your approval and acceptance."

"What? What is it?" He swallowed hard, and Buffy sat up straighter. "Giles, what's the loophole?"

"The loophole...the Council..." He paused, cleared his throat, and forced himself to meet her eyes. "The Council does not historically interfere with the family of the Slayer. Because of their ties of kinship, the family is the one influence that the Council makes no attempt to meddle with. That rule is why you were never taken away from your family after you became the Slayer. No Slayer is, unless her family chooses to give her up, or the Slayer herself chooses to leave. I suspect the rule has something to do with the fact that Watcher traditions are often passed through family lines, as mine were. Or perhaps it is simply that even the Council recognizes the folly of trying to separate a Slayer from the things she cares about, the things she is willing to defend."

"Okay. Family equals blind spot equals loophole. Got it. Still trying to figure out where you're going with this. Unless you want Willow to forge you some paperwork saying that you're like a long lost uncle or something."

"No. Nothing so...detectable. The Council would notice if such paperwork were filed. They would have done an extensive background check before appointing me as your Watcher, to avoid just such ties. And their records are…very meticulous." He paused a moment, his mouth dry. "There is another, much simpler, and much more legal, way, to ensure that the necessary qualifications are met."

He had stopped looking at her, but he forced himself to meet her eyes. "Kin by marriage is considered protected by the same rules as any other form of family. If...if..."

"If you married someone in my family, they couldn't get you. That's what you were thinking." Buffy's voice had gone that careful, toneless quality. The monotone that meant she was upset. Very upset. "Giles...that's…that's…."

"It is. It most certainly is. If it helps, it was actually your mother's idea."

"And you agreed."

"Not really. That is, I agree that the logic is sound. But if you're asking me if I agreed that I should marry your mother simply so I could maintain guardianship over you, I did not. Nor do I even now. But your mother believes it to be a good idea, and it does have certain merits."

"That's just wrong." Buffy's voice went cold. "Giles...I never thought…to take advantage of her like that..."

"I am aware." He jerked his head up, then shoved himself to his feet to pace the confines of her room. "Believe me, I am more than aware of how…how despicable it seems. As I said, it was your mother's idea."

"But you agreed."

"No. Not as such." He turned back to her. "Buffy…please listen to me. Your mother and I discussed this..."

"I'm not listening to this unless both of you are here." Buffy glared at him.

"Fair enough." He nodded, some of his anger fading at the fierce protectiveness in her eyes. "Shall I go downstairs and help induce your friends to leave so that we can properly discuss this?"

"That might be a good idea." She hadn't budged an inch.

"Then so I shall." He ducked out of the room and headed down the stairs, his stomach churning and his mind whirling with nerves and stress.

It wasn't that hard to coax the children to leave. Some subtle comments about Buffy being tired, needing rest, and Willow was soon shoving the two boys out of the house with quick farewells and requests that they tell Buffy to take care, and that they'd see her soon.

Joyce sighed as they shut the door. "Those kids..." She shook her head. "Did you talk to Buffy? You were up there a while."

"We were sidetracked by some previous issues, but I did manage to break the news to her. She took it...well, she refuses to discuss the matter without both of us present."

"So she took it badly." Joyce sighed again.

"She is rather protective of you." He pulled his glasses off and wiped them on his handkerchief again.

"That she is. Well, if we're going to talk this out, I'd best go call her. Make yourself comfortable in the living room." She vanished up the stairs.

Giles made his way to the living room and perched on the couch. Buffy and Joyce joined him a few moments later. Buffy took a chair. Joyce joined him on the couch.

"So..." Buffy was staring at her mother. Giles decided not to interject unless the circumstances specifically called for it. "You and Giles."

"Well, yes. What did Giles tell you?"

"That if he married you, the Watcher Council couldn't interfere with him. Because it's a family thing. And he said it was your idea." Buffy frowned at her mother. "Was it?"

"It was." Joyce reached across the space and took her daughter's hand. "Buffy, I just want you to be as safe and happy as possible. And I don't want you having to depend on someone who doesn't care about your happiness or welfare to advise you. From what I've seen, you tend to be a little reckless, and I think someone who's too...detached...well, they might not take proper care of protecting you or helping you, of providing you and your friends proper support."

"But what about you?" Buffy's eyes were distressed, the frown smoothed away by genuine concern. "Mom...you can't marry someone just because they might be good for me. You just...you can't. And I don't want you to."

"I know sweetie. But, I'll be honest. If it were just about you, I probably wouldn't marry him anyway. However, as it stands...well, Mr. Giles and I have gotten to know each other. Especially while you were away. And after you came home. And I think he has several…very excellent qualities." Joyce rolled her shoulders in a sort of half-shrug. "He's intelligent. We share some of the same interests and tastes."

"Or lack thereof." Buffy made a face. "But seriously..."

"Seriously. I think Mr. Giles and I would get along very well. And honestly, it would be a relief, being with a man and not constantly worrying if he was going to find out our little family secret, and how he'd react if he did."

"I can get that." Buffy managed a weak grin. "But...mom, there should be more to it than that. I don't want...I mean, are you even attracted to him?"

Giles blinked. He hadn't dared to ask the question himself. Of course, Joyce had responded well enough to him during the band candy incident. But that had been then, when both of them had been behaving rather like adolescents.

Joyce blushed. "Well, actually...I do find him...I mean, he does have very lovely eyes, and he's very…."

"Oh god. You do like him. You seriously like him." Buffy swallowed hard, her expression almost comically horrified. "Okay, you know what, I really don't want to know."

Giles sighed. "I wouldn't mind."

Joyce turned around with a raised eyebrow. Buffy glared at him. "Don't push it." Then her expression altered. "Do you like my mom?"

Now it was his turn to blush. "I think your mother is quite a lovely woman. Intelligent, good figure, lovely hair and eyes..."

"Okay. Stop there. I really do not need to listen to you recounting how much you like my mother either." Buffy grimaced. "You really should have just stopped at the first sentence." She shook her head.

"Buffy." Joyce's voice was faintly reproving.

Buffy shook her head. "Nope. Not going there. The band thing when you were mentally teenagers was bad enough. I really don't want any more references now that you're sane and...all adult again." She curled up in the chair. Then she fixed Giles with a stare that would have drilled a hole through concrete. "Do you love her? My mom?"

He considered the question. "I...I don't know. I never truly had the time to consider it, with everything else. I am...fond of her. I respect her. I admire her. I am certainly attracted to her. But love...I am afraid I can't say, not without more time. I will say however, that I think it quite possible that I could develop stronger feelings for your mother. And I would not discount love as a possibility. In time, after we've had more time to truly get to know each other, and for other matters to...fade."

Buffy considered that, then turned to her mother. "Mom?"

Joyce folded her hands together in her lap. "Well, I admit...I hadn't thought of it much before. I mean, first he was your teacher. And then, everything else…but I do admire him. I enjoy talking with him." She paused, then nodded. "I agree with Mr. Giles. With Rupert, I suppose. I don't know if I love him now, but I think it is a very real possibility in the future. And, having considered it, it's a possibility I'd like to explore."

Buffy stared at the two of them. "You guys are serious about this?"

Giles and Joyce shared a look. Then Joyce nodded. "Yes."

Giles chimed in. "Yes indeed. I think we are."

Buffy swallowed hard. "Okay. But...rules."

"What rules were you thinking of?" Giles frowned.

"You have to go on at least one date. A real date, with dinner and drinks and talking and...stuff. Whatever adults do when they date. And it has to go well. Also, Giles, you have to ask my mother properly. A real proposal, with a ring and everything. Plus...I guess the council thingy means you have to kind of make this whole thing a rush job?"

"It does, unfortunately." Giles sighed.

"Okay. Then you have to agree. One year from whenever you get married. If you don't love each other, you guys separate. No muss, no fuss. Just..." She caught their exchange of looks. "I'll be out of school then. Hopefully in college, and possibly gainfully employed as...as something. I might not even live in the house any more. And we'll know by then if my new Watcher is a serious Watcher, or just a sleaze in a suit. If he's good, I'll be able to work with him. If not...I'll have plenty of time to train him to stay out of my way." she looked somewhat gleeful at the thought.

"That seems highly likely." Giles managed a smile, warmed by the expression of anticipation on her face. "It certainly didn't take you very long to train me."

"I never had to train you to get out of my way. Just to trust me a little. And understand that my priorities include a real life." She grinned at him.

"Indeed. Indeed you did." He smiled. "I take it then, provided the rules are followed, that we have your tentative blessing?"

"Date first. Proposal first. Buffy blessing after. If you treat my mom right." She considered. "Which, actually, I'm not that concerned about. I mean, teen Giles I might have worried about. But you're...like the ultimate in stuffy proper gentleman. I might actually have to remind you to kiss her." Her nose wrinkled. "That is a seriously disturbing visual."

"Indeed." Giles and Joyce both shivered at the mental image of standing on the porch while Buffy lectured them on the proper technique for kissing. Giles recovered his composure. "I...well, I have next Saturday free. Would you care to join me for dinner?"

"I'd love to." Joyce smiled at him. She really did have a lovely smile.

Buffy sighed. "Oh, this is going to be fun..."

 _ **Author's Note:** It begins..._


	5. Chapter 5: Getting to Know You

**Chapter** **Five:** **Getting** **to** **Know** **You**

The week passed fairly quietly. Buffy regained her strength and her healing powers, and was soon back to her usual self. She talked with her friends, attended her classes (if reluctantly), and griped about Principal Snyder. She even came to the library, and if she was a bit withdrawn and wary...well, he had given her good reason.

Giles worked with Buffy as needed, talked Willow out of panicking about his impending forced retirement, and performed his duties at the library. He hadn't heard back from Quentin Travers since Buffy's test, and assumed he was expected to tend to his Slayer until the new Watcher had arrived. How long that would be, he had no idea. He also couldn't find it in himself to think about it much.

He was far too busy thinking about his upcoming date with Joyce Sommers.

They'd decided on dinner out, with the option of a movie or returning to his apartment for drinks afterward. He'd offered, and she'd accepted, dinner at one of the small Italian restaurants he knew of, which had good food at a fairly reasonable price.

He knew the mechanics of dating well enough, having had some recent experience with Jenny, but the actual practice, especially considering the plans this date would hopefully set in motion...he couldn't help feeling nervous.

Saturday came around, bringing with it comfortable temperatures, and weather good enough that he thought they might try a patio seat at the restaurant. He made three changes to his attire before he finally decided he was presentable. He spent the remaining time until he needed to leave fretting, checking to see if he really did have the bottle of scotch he thought he did, and wondering what movies were playing, and if any of them would be palatable. He'd heard things from the children about the movies at Sunnydale Cinema...

The ting of his watch counting the hour startled him out of his mental fussing. He'd told Joyce he'd pick her up by 6:30. He straightened his coat, and his tie, then collected his keys and left.

Buffy was waiting at the door when he showed up, arms folded. She looked him over. "Gilesmobile...check. Tweed suit with tie...check. Although, that's a nicer shirt than you usually wear to school." She gave him an exasperated smile."Seriously Giles, I know you own other clothes. You couldn't find something else to wear to take my mom out to dinner?"

"Nothing I have that's nicer. I could have gone with a more casual mode of dress I suppose, but I was taught that one shows respect for one's...partner, by dressing up, unless the circumstances specifically call for dressing more casually. And I do wish to show your mother every courtesy."

"Yeah...if you say so. At least you combed your hair." She grinned. "I take it you know the rules? No drinking and driving, treat her right, and get her back before midnight. Or else, well, call and tell me she won't be back before midnight. But please don't tell me anything else." She gave him a mournful look that brought an involuntary smile to his lips.

"Of course. I wouldn't dream of being anything less than a complete and proper gentleman."

"Oh, no. You can be improper. I just don't wanna know about it. Because, well...old people smoochies. Totally do not want to go there." She shuddered.

"Understood." He nodded. "Now, may I please see your mother?"

"Sure." Buffy opened the door and shouted through it. "Mom! Giles is here!" She grinned back at him. "I've so been wanting to do that. Mom's been doing that to me for years, ever since I discovered boys didn't have cooties."

"I can imagine." His attention was distracted from Buffy's banter by the sight of Joyce coming down the stairs. She had on a lovely outfit, dark blue skirt with a lighter blue shirt decorated with florals stitched around the hem and the sleeves. He hair had been styled in neat waves, the outfit accented by small dangling earrings. "Joyce. You look lovely."

"Thank you." She smiled, appreciative of the compliment. Her eyes flickered over him, and he saw appreciation. "You look quite nice too."

"Thank you." He held out his hand, following the protocol that his father had drilled into him. "Shall we?"

"Sure. Just let me get my purse." She leaned sideways and snagged it off the table. "Buffy..."

"Make sure to do my homework, leave a note if I'm going to be anywhere like Willow's or the Bronze, and don't forget to lock up when I go patrolling. Dinner's in the fridge, money in the drawer if I want to go out. No more than two cookies for dessert, and be back at a reasonable hour if I go clubbing. Yeah. I got it." Buffy grinned and gave her mother a gentle nudge in Giles' direction. "You kids have fun."

Joyce blushed. "Well then..."

"Shall we?" Giles held out his arm again. Joyce looped her own through it, and followed him to the car.

The ride to the restaurant was quiet, both of them keeping their own thoughts until they'd been seated. It was only after the waiter had brought their drinks and take their order that Joyce broke the awkward silence. "You know, as I've heard it, first dates are supposed to involve getting to know the other person."

"Indeed. So I've heard." He took a sip of the tea he'd ordered. It was barely palatable, but it was better than soda, water or coffee.

"So...easy questions for dinner and hard for the night-cap, or did you want to do it the other way around?" Joyce met his eyes.

"No. Hard questions after dinner. I suspect we'd both prefer fewer interruptions. And I've been given to understand that alcohol makes most such questions easier."

"I agree. Easy questions it is then." Joyce smiled. "So...what's your favorite color?"

He blinked. "I...err, brown, actually."

"Brown?"

"Indeed. The color of bookshelves and the most common color of leather bindings on older books." He flushed under her inquiring gaze. "I've found...well, to me, the senses of smell and color are powerful memory aides. I associate things I've learned, or knowledge I need, with certain scents, certain colors. The color of a book binding, the scents trapped within the pages. The color and scent of bookshelves...well, it's a form of mental stimulus for me. A pleasant one, generally speaking, one that speaks of a sense of accomplishment, of intellectual success." He flushed harder. "I suspect I over-think it. And I'm quite sure I'm babbling now...what is yours? Your favorite color, I mean?"

"Well, I do like brown, actually. But I'd have to say my favorite colors are green and blue. Although..." Her brow creased. "I'm not sure I have a favorite color, so much as favorite shades. I like darker toned things. I guess it's part of my attraction to old world things. But I've always kind of favored dark colors. Except for greens and blues. I like them to be brighter."

"Those are lovely colors. And they do suit you."

"Thanks. So...favorite food?"

He smiled, relaxing a little at her good-natured responses. "I have no true preference. Actually, it's usually whatever I can scrounge up. I have a tendency to forget about eating, especially if there's research to be done. I've never placed a high priority on food, certainly not enough to have a preference. Though I do have a rather marked preference for tea as a beverage. A product of my British upbringing, I suppose." He took another sip of his tea. "You?"

"Easy fix stuff. I'm usually so busy with the gallery, and with Buffy...it's so much easier just to throw something basic together. I've become extraordinarily fond of sandwiches and cereal. No real preferences beyond that. Although, I'm more interested in juice and water, rather than tea."

"Indeed. Quite sensible and healthy. Buffy has tried to convince me of the merits of coffee and hot chocolate, but I have yet to see the benefits, particularly with the amount of sugar she insists on adding to both beverages." He shuddered.

"Lord yes. It's amazing to me that she's not constantly bouncing off the walls." Joyce laughed. "I'm okay with coffee sometimes if I've had a late night, but those...those mocha things she drinks..." she shook her head. "I will never see the attraction. I think it's a teen thing."

"I wish I could agree. Unfortunately I happen to know an extraordinary number of teachers who indulge in them. As well as the more juvenile soda." The arrival of the food interrupted them momentarily, a lasagna for him and a Fettuccine Alfredo for her.

Joyce shook out a napkin on her lap, then took a bite of her food. Her eyes closed in a blissful expression. "Oh, that is so good."

Giles took a bite of his lasagna. It was quite good, a perfect balance of noodles, cheese, tomato sauce and the ground meat. "It is rather excellent."

They both spent the next few minutes eating. Finally, when the food was half gone, Joyce paused for a drink. "So, continuing with the questions...what's your favorite music?"

"You've heard some of it." He offered her a weak smile, fighting the blush that threatened to turn his ears and the back of his neck crimson. "I am rather a fan of classical rock and roll. It's something of a guilty vice, left over from my days of youthful rebellion. Beyond that, I'm somewhat fond of acoustical music. And some forms of older music."

"I know. I'd never tell Buffy, but I am too. But she'd be horrified. The teen years reboot was bad enough, I don't think she could tolerate any more damage to my 'contained and self-restrained mother' image." Joyce laughed a little.

"Indeed." Giles found himself laughing too.

They spent the rest of dinner comparing notes, good-naturedly sharing embarrassing childhood stories and anecdotes of their wayward youth. Then discussion devolved into a comparison of the American system versus the British system of doing things, and the difference in their upbringings. Giles had lived a very structured and restricted life. Joyce had been raised with certain expectations, but with much more freedom. The differences and similarities were fascinating for both of them.

Eventually, dinner came to an end. Giles paid the bill, insistent on being a gentleman, then escorted Joyce out to the car. He settled into the driver's seat. "So, shall we..." His tongue tangled momentarily. "Shall we try to catch a show?"

Joyce shook her head. "No. Definitely not. Talking to you is far more fascinating than a movie could be. And there's nothing on that I'm interested in. I checked."

A warm glow filled him, hearing that Joyce found him interesting. "Indeed. Then...I suppose we might return to my apartment?"

Joyce glanced at the clock, then nodded. "That sounds like a great idea." Giles smiled to himself and put the car in gear.

The drive was filled, not with silence, but with comfortable discussion. Joyce mentioned that she had started a book club, and asked if he had any recommendations. As a librarian, and an avid reader outside of his duties, he knew of several books, and the discussion of possible book choices and topics of discussion lasted all the way home.

Inside, he settled Joyce on the couch, then went into the kitchen to collect refreshments. He paused, weighing options, then decided to forgo the scotch in favor of something lighter. He wasn't sure how the conversation might flow from here, but he didn't want to risk his mind becoming muddled. He shut the door on the scotch, and went to get some wine.

He faltered when he was at the rack, remembering how Angelus had laid out the wine when he had killed Jenny and left her body in the bed...His hand trembled before he shook the thought away. He smiled wryly as he pulled a bottle of good red from the rack and collected two glasses.

Buffy wasn't the only one haunted by memories and ghosts. He could never tell her of course. She would only blame herself for his pain, and the fault wasn't hers to bear. He had been the one to shun Jenny until just before that night. He had known she was at risk, and he hadn't taken the proper precautions. It was hardly Buffy's fault.

He set that thought aside as well, and returned to the living room.

Joyce was waiting, still seated on the couch, when he returned, wine bottle and two glasses held carefully in his hands. He set them down, poured the wine, and offered her a glass. "I believe you were asking about my opinions on some of the Romantic Era classics..."

"I was." Joyce's voice was soft, but it made his pause, made his chest tighten in warning. "But the suggestions you gave me will keep us busy for a while, and I thought..." She leaned forward to look him in the eyes. "That we agreed that after dinner was the time for hard questions."

He winced, but that didn't stop his response. "We did indeed." He considered, but he had no idea what his first question would, or should be. "Very well. What would you like to know?"

Joyce didn't hesitate. "When did you realize you loved my daughter?"

The question almost made him smile. He had known she would ask. After all the turmoil she had experienced over his relationship with Buffy, how could she not? They'd had more than one confrontation over his attachment to Buffy during her disappearance, and he doubted her return had stilled Joyce's worries. And given what he himself had revealed about his dismissal...

Yes, he had known she would ask.

He sipped his wine, trying to order his thoughts. "It was...something of a gradual process, really. It happened over time, so it's rather difficult to pinpoint an exact point at which I realized I cared for Buffy as deeply as I do. However, if you wish, I can tell you the three incidents that served as...something of a revelation to me, when they happened."

"Please."

"As you wish." He sipped, cradled the wine in his hands to give them something to do other than fidget with his glasses. "All of these, understand, occurred in Buffy's first year. And, in truth, they were rather surprising to me. When I first met your daughter, I must admit, I had certain...expectations. A young woman who was more interested in her school work and her social life than her duty, particularly with her previous experience, was not what I expected. Not at all. Added to that, her previous Watcher had not given her nearly enough instruction, as far as I was concerned. She was woefully ignorant of the full scope of her powers, and her responsibilities. I found it all...rather frustrating, to be honest."

"She is a handful." he heard the wry fondness in Joyce's voice, a match to his own, and it relaxed him.

"Indeed." He paused. "I don't know if you remember, but two or three weeks after school started, there were these...these tryouts..." He shuddered at the memory.

"The cheerleading tryouts. I remember. I was busy with the gallery, and I didn't have time to cheer Buffy on. Not to mention being a hopeless nerd in my day. I never would have gone near the cheerleading squad. I know I upset Buffy, because she thought I didn't care. But I did. I just didn't understand it."

"Nor did I. Be that as it may..." He swallowed, a lump forming in his throat as he remembered what had happened. The event itself had been terrifying and heartbreaking, and the memory wasn't much better. "As it happened, there was a witch targeting the cheerleading squad. Apparently a former cheerleader who wished to...relive her glory days, or some such nonsense."

Joyce grimaced. "That sounds a little crazy."

"Indeed. Nonetheless, she was there, and was using her powers to hex cheerleaders whose talent or attitudes obstructed her goals or irritated her. Several members of the squad were hexed. We were looking into the matter when Buffy was attacked as well. Not a simple scare hex such as the others suffered, but a truly devastating enchantment, designed to kill it's victim in a matter of hours." He swallowed again. "Given the...severity of her condition, Buffy and I elected to search the witch's home. When we arrived, we discovered that her daughter was also a victim of her behavior."

He took a deep breath, stomach clenching as he remembered. "I...I raced to search for the witch's spell book. Buffy was already too weak to assist me. But when I returned from my search, she was...she was talking. To the daughter. She..."

His voice broke. He paused, trying to get himself under control. "She knew she was dying, that she had hours at most. And yet, she was determined to console her classmate. As weak as she was, she wanted to comfort her, this girl she barely even knew. She was so strong, so brave about it, it was astounding to witness. Astounding, and heartbreaking."

He heaved out a breath, trying to ease the memory. When he spoke, his voice was softer. "After my mistakes as a young man, I swore never to use or meddle with magicks. I considered them too volatile, and my own control and discipline too weak, to ever handle such powers. But seeing Buffy, seeing her courage, even in such dire circumstances...I broke that vow. That day, I summoned magic for the first time in...in longer than Buffy has been alive. And I knew, afterward, that it wouldn't be the last time. That I was...I was quite willing to be foresworn in any way I had to be, even if it meant revisiting the worst of myself, if it would protect her."

He bowed his head, trying to control his breathing and the aching pain in his heart. He hadn't imagined that telling Joyce would be so hard. But it was fitting, he supposed. He knew, through Buffy, most of what went on between her and her mother. It was only fair that he reveal his past with her daughter.

Joyce finally broke the silence between them. "Well...I have to say, I am so glad I didn't know about that when it happened." She exhaled sharply. "Are all your stories of Buffy like that?"

"Not all. The second incident was...far tamer. Emotionally troubling for many people, myself included, but not...physically damaging. Or life-threatening." He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and swallowed down a gulp of wine.

"All right." Joyce mirrored his gesture, then brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. "So...what was the second one?"

Giles sipped again. "A series of...events, started occurring. Impossible accidents, it seemed like. After a while, we discovered that something, or someone, was causing people's nightmares to become reality. At first, just simple, foolish nightmares. Things like my getting lost in the library. Or, in Xander's case, appearing in class without his clothing."

Joyce winced. "That sounds uncomfortable."

He managed a weak smile. "Quite." He sighed. "As time progressed, however, the nightmares became more real, and more dangerous. From simple childish fears to true horrors. A girl was beaten nearly to death. We were in danger of having the realm of nightmares permanently fused to our own reality. Around that point, we discovered that the origin of the phenomena was a boy by the name of Billy. He had been attacked and left for dead, and was in a coma in the hospital. His troubled spirit had separated from his physical body. and the fear and emotional distress from his attack caused the realm of nightmares to form around him."

"That poor kid." Joyce's voice was sympathetic. "But...where does Buffy fit into this?"

"She, like the rest of us, went looking for Billy. When she didn't return to the library, we went looking for her as well. We stumbled into a pocket realm, a graveyard."

He turned to look at her, heedless of the stinging in his eyes, knowing she would think no less of him for it. "As it turned out, it was my nightmare. My worst nightmare. A nightmare in which I had failed her. Failed to train her properly, failed to help her, failed to protect her. A nightmare in which she died, and I stood over her grave." His voice broke. "I had never realized, until that particular moment, just how much I dreaded that scenario. And I was never more relieved, or more grateful than when Buffy proved to be still alive."

"What happened?"

"She led us to Billy. She had figured out what happened to him. And when the monster of his nightmares came, she vanquished him, and helped Billy conquer his own fears. Billy awoke from his coma, the nightmare world was banished, and we captured the man who had hurt him. And everything ended well. But the memory...it remains, for me. Along with, I confess, a rather desperate desire to ensure that it never becomes a reality."

Joyce reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "I can't imagine what it would be like to see that. But, I'm glad you feel that way about Buffy. Trust me..." Her voice wavered. "I share the sentiment. Ever since I found out that Buffy died...I can't stop worrying about her." She gulped her drink, draining it.

Giles frowned, surprised. "She...she told you?"

"Just after Faith appeared. She sort of...let it slip while Faith was visiting us. She said a new Slayer can only be called after the first one dies." Joyce looked pained. "I just... I keep thinking...I never noticed. My daughter died, and I didn't notice it. I don't even know when it happened, or how it happened. Buffy won't tell me. And what if whatever killed her is still out there? What if it comes after her again?"

"He won't. The entity that killed her is quite dead." Giles refilled her glass and settled back.

"Can you tell me about it?" Her voice was soft, lost. She sounded so very much like Buffy, when she was upset or sad.

Rather like Buffy had in the library, the day he had revealed his role in the Cruciamentum.

He topped off his own glass. "I can. In fact, the instances surrounding Buffy's temporary departure from this world were the third of the three incidents I mentioned earlier."

Joyce considered, then took a deep breath. "Okay. Tell me."

Giles nodded. "I don't know if Buffy ever informed you, but this particular location, this town, is situated upon a convergence of mystical energies known as a hellmouth."

Joyce grimaced. "That sounds awful."

"It rather is. The energy of the hellmouth draws in evil entities, and increases their power. Several hundred years ago, it drew in a vampire, a very old and powerful vampire, known as the Master. An accident caused him to be sealed, with the hellmouth, beneath the earth. As far as anyone knew he was either destroyed or dormant, until shortly before Buffy arrived. Then something, or someone, conspired to wake him. I don't know the exact circumstances. Only that his awakening was of such a disastrous magnitude that it was described in books of prophecy hundreds of years old, and was quite literally considered to be the first sign of the impending apocalypse."

"And Buffy had to face him?" Joyce sounded horrified. He didn't blame her.

"It was her duty as the Slayer. Furthermore, there were several prophecies that indicated she would be the only one to defeat him." He sipped the wine to wet his dry throat. "She spent most of the year battling him, thwarting his plans. I had hopes that she could prevent his eventual escape, perhaps even put him back to sleep."

"But?" Joyce's voice was nearly as rough as his.

"There was a book of prophecy. Angel, who was at the time in full control of himself, and actually something of a friend to me, helped me recover that book. It was said to be the most complete volume of Slayer prophecy in existence, and the most accurate. No prophecy recorded in that book ever failed to come to pass. I read it, hoping to discover a clue as to how Buffy could defeat the Master. What I read was...far more terrible."

He wrenched his glasses off his nose. Talking about these memories still hurt so much. Not only because of Angel and Jenny, but because of his own helplessness, and the still-vivid memory of Buffy's face, the day she'd discovered the truth.

He recovered himself and continued, glad that Joyce had elected to stay silent. "The prophecy read that Buffy would indeed face the Master, but that the confrontation would kill her. That she would die at his hands." His voice broke.

"And you let her go anyway, because it was her duty." He couldn't fault Joyce for the anger in her voice.

"I did not, in fact. I was searching for a counter-prophecy when Buffy discovered the truth. She was...upset with me, rightfully so. Rather hysterical actually. Which was, given the circumstances, quite understandable. She was a sixteen-year-old girl being told she was going to die. Within a matter of days. She, quite reasonably, told me that she refused, that she quit. And she fled from me. I did not pursue her. Because, for all that I was her Watcher, supposed to guide her in her duties, I realized she was right. She was a child, being asked to give up her life, to face an enemy she could not defeat. Being told she was expected to go to her death for the sake of the world. And as near as she could tell, she was being asked to do it alone. And so, I elected not to pursue her, not to demand anything of her."

"So what did you do?"

"I chose to face the Master myself. I knew it was in defiance of my orders. I knew it was in defiance of a supposedly unstoppable prophecy. I knew it would mean my death. But, what I understood then was that I...I did not care. And when Buffy returned to me, resolved to do her duty in spite of the cost, I refused her. I told her I would take her place. I demanded the right to take her place." He smiled ruefully, sadly. "And Buffy...she smiled at me. And for the first time, I saw in her eyes what it meant to be a Slayer, and why having a normal life was so important to her." He winced, remembering. "And then she punched me in the jaw and knocked me out cold. By the time I regained consciousness, she was gone." He rubbed his jaw. He'd had trouble chewing for a month afterward, not that he had begrudged her the blow.

Not when he had known what it meant, that he had been willing to go, and that she had been willing to make him stay.

"And she..." Joyce's voice broke, small and brittle, anger giving way to pain.

"She faced the Master. He knocked her unconscious, then left her lying face-down in a pool. Technically, she drowned. Fortunately, Xander is a loyal friend to her. He and Angel descended into the tunnels as soon as they heard that Buffy had gone, and what danger she faced. He managed to find her and give her CPR and revive her. The Slayer legacy was activated and the next Slayer Called, but Buffy herself lived."

"And the Master...he was defeated?"

"Indeed. Buffy pursued him to the hellmouth gate and killed him. Dropped him through a skylight and onto a large wooden beam that had been broken." He sighed. "There was an attempt, some months later, to revive him. Buffy foiled it, and ensured there would be no further attempts by smashing his bones to powder."

"Sounds reasonable." Joyce sipped her wine. Her hands were trembling faintly, but Giles could scarcely blame her. "I just...when did all of this happen?"

"The final confrontation was near the end of school. The night of the spring dance. We actually..." He laughed a little. "We actually...after we saved the world, we went to the Bronze and danced. As if nothing of any import had happened that night."

Joyce sat back, looking dazed.

Silence fell for several moments. Then Joyce spoke, her voice small and weak. "I...I remember Buffy coming home from that dance. She looked...tired, and her hair was a mess. So was the gown. She told me she tripped and fell. I remember thinking it was odd, that a little stumble could get so much dirt on her, muss her hair so bad. But I thought she was just embarrassed about it. And tired, from being out so late." She swallowed more of her wine. "She was so quiet afterward, but...I put it down to the end of school. And then she went to spend the summer with her father, and I thought it would sort itself out. Only...he said when he brought her home that he felt like Buffy had been distant with him all summer. And she didn't act quite like her usual self. She didn't really seem to come out of it until several days later."

She leaned back against the couch, her face pale and her hands shaking. "I should have...I mean, I realized later in the school year that she was acting a little...odd, but I thought it was just some teenage thing."

Giles could see her blaming herself. He put a hand on her arm to get her attention, setting his wine to the side.

Joyce looked at him. "Am I a bad parent?"

"No. Indeed not. Perhaps a little...unaware. But then, Buffy would never have told you the truth. Indeed, I think she would have avoided anyone knowing, if she could. That night affected her deeply, in ways that I think most of us will never understand. When she came home from summer, she spent several days trying very hard to push everyone away. I know she had nightmares, and I know she was very much hurt by what happened. But I also know that she wanted, more than anything, to feel normal, as normal as she could be, given all that she knew and all that she had experienced. I suspect she took great pains to keep you as unaware as possible."

He met her eyes, and offered a small shrug. "If it helps, she did try to push me away as well."

"She did?" Joyce frowned, but he was pleased to note that her tone of voice regained some strength. "What did she..."

"Her training sessions were...rather brutal. After the first one, in which she laid me out flat in under a minute, I resorted to using a targeting dummy. She broke it, rather violently, then left." He sighed. "From her expression, I believe she had some sort of...of flashback, or something of that nature. But she refused to confide in me. In point of fact, she refused to converse with me at all, save for the bare minimum required by both our duties. It wasn't until after the Master's bones were pulverized that she revealed the truth. That she was terrified of losing someone, or dying for them again."

"And you made her feel better, got her back on her feet." Joyce was frowning thoughtfully.

He shook his head, a small sad smile finding it's way to his face. "I wish I could take the credit. In truth, I spoke to her, counseled her, but it was her friends who truly set her to rights. Xander, Willow...even Cordelia, to a point." He shook his head. "Willow...understands her, stands up for her when everyone else is too blind to truly pay attention. Xander...well, Xander is fanatically loyal to those he gives his support to, but also extraordinarily blunt and forthright. And Cordelia...well, most of the time she and Buffy are rivals, opponents, and she generally presents the air of a vain, vapid, and entirely self-centered socialite. But when the situation calls for it, she can be very sensible, and very solid, and very supportive. In an odd sort of way, Cordelia grounds Buffy, both within their rivalry and their rare moments of accord."

Joyce nodded. "You know...I was worried about Buffy. I still worry about her. But, whatever else is true, she does have good friends here." She sipped her wine. "You know, that's probably the one thing that I always felt had improved over her previous social life. I mean, her grades aren't stellar, she hardly seems to study, and she always seems to be in one sort of trouble or another. But she has good friends."

Giles tilted his head. "Tell me about her. About...before." Joyce blinked at him. He shrugged. "The Buffy I know...well, she has always been the Slayer to me. Unique, certainly. An individual beyond compare. But..." He looked at her. "What was she like, before she...before we interfered with her life? Before destiny changed her?"

Joyce laughed. "She was...well, actually...in some ways, she wasn't that much different than she is now. Boy-obsessed and fashion obsessed. Always wanting to go out, always worrying about her hair, or her nails. Not too fond of studying for school. Although, she did get into a lot less trouble back then."

"Yes. I imagine so. One of the unfortunate drawbacks of being the Slayer." He sighed.

"So I gathered. Buffy was...back then, she was a lot more social, I guess. She was Spring Queen her freshman year in high school. I didn't get it, but I was really proud of her. So was her father."

"Indeed. I seem to recall her competing with Cordelia for a similar title."

Joyce sighed. "She was far more athletic than I ever was. Cheer-leading and ice-skating. She loved both those things, and she kept herself in good shape for them. She was an excellent skater." A small laugh. "Well, I say that, but I'm her mother."

"She mentioned an ice show." Giles frowned.

"She did. Her father was supposed to take her. He usually does, every year. But this year...well, he canceled on her. She tried to shrug it off, but I could tell it bothered her. Especially since I had to be at the gallery and couldn't go with her." Joyce sighed again.

"Indeed. I was preoccupied by other things, but I find myself wishing I had taken the time to consider her invitation when she asked me about it. But, as that was shortly before the regrettable incident involving the Council..."

"I see the problem." Joyce sipped her wine. "Buffy was...even as a little girl, she was so bright, so friendly. Very strong willed, and very precocious. But...I really thought she'd have a good future ahead of her, if she'd just apply herself to her schoolwork. And as much as I didn't understand her popularity, and all the fussing that went with it, I was really proud of her."

Giles frowned. "And you..." He paused, struggling to keep his next words from being an accusation. "I...Buffy is an exasperating and frustrating child, and frequently quite impossible to keep track of or control. And yet, for all her faults...I find myself quite proud to have been her Watcher."

Joyce nodded. "True. And now that I know what was behind the cutting class and acts of vandalism and so forth, I'm really proud to be her mother. It's just...it takes some getting used to." Joyce grimaced. "You know, before her first parent-teacher conference, I told her I didn't want to be disappointed in her again. And when I was talking to Snyder, he made her sound like such a delinquent, and I was absolutely furious. But then the school was attacked, and she took such good care of everyone, and I was so proud of her. And it was like...my emotions kept swinging back and forth. They still do sometimes, even after I think I've adjusted to having a Slayer for a daughter."

She waved one hand in a sharp, swooping gesture, half salute and half exasperation. "I have a Slayer for a daughter. Everyone else has future teachers, or executives, or stylists, or writers. My daughter...my daughter saves the world. Honestly, that makes me prouder than I ever imagined being. It also terrifies me and makes me want to lock her in her room until one of us dies of old age."

"A sentiment I assure you I share. Though I fear locks would be quite useless in Buffy's case." Giles drained his wine, then topped off both their glasses. "Although, Buffy aside...I believe we were asking each other questions. And, I believe it is your turn."

Joyce frowned at him. "I've always wondered...how did you become a Watcher?"

Giles winced, then sighed. "Rather like Buffy. It was my legacy, my duty and my Calling. In my case, my father informed me that I would be a Watcher when I was ten years old. The same day he mapped out what was to be my future. A future spent buried in the occult, in research, until such time as I might be called upon to serve. Of course, there was no guarantee that I would be called, only that I might be. I spent several years seething at the injustice, followed by a brief period of adolescent rebellion in my college years. My era of juvenile rebellion ended badly, so I returned to my studies and finally resigned myself to my duties. In time, I found a sort of comfort in research, in my books and so forth. I came to the conclusion that being a Watcher wasn't so terrible, and better than many fates I might have had."

"But you didn't have a choice? You were like Buffy?"

"In a manner of speaking." He sighed. "In truth, now that my duties seem about to cease, I find myself feeling somewhat adrift. It seems a strange thing, to know that one's destiny is no longer a deciding factor in one's actions. Apart from the library, I'm not entirely sure I know what to do with myself."

"You'll figure it out. And if things go well...I'll help."

Silence fell between them for a moment, but it was comfortable. Then Joyce broke it. "Your turn."

He considered his options, and opted for the safest one. "Well, you know how I became a Watcher, and to some extent, how I became a librarian. How did you come to be the administrator of an art gallery?"

"That was...much more of a choice." Joyce set her wine down. "I've always been a bit of...well, I'd like to say, open-minded. I was actually a bit of a wild child. Even when I went to college. But I've always been a fan of art, and I realized...oh, sometime in my junior year, when Buffy's father and I were going steady and contemplating marriage, that I wanted to have a good job. A solid job. I didn't think I could make it as an artist, so I settled for being a curator. It gave me a good chance to explore several different kinds of art, at least, and really broaden my horizons. I always wanted to travel the world, but there was no way I could come up with that kind of cash. Being a museum and gallery curator felt like being able to have at least some of that dream."

"Quite." He studied the glass in his hands. "You know...I come from a relatively...well, we aren't rich, but certainly well off family. In England, I mean. I still own a house there, inherited from my father when he passed. If you like, I would be quite willing to take you to see it. Sometime. After things have died down here."

"That sounds wonderful. I'll probably take you up on that." Joyce smiled.

He hadn't returned home in nearly three years. The old manse would undoubtedly be dusty and full of cobwebs. Embarrassing. But the thought of seeing Joyce strolling it's halls, full of their family portraits and odd heirlooms, was oddly appealing. He indulged himself for a moment in the brief fantasy. Buffy and Joyce in his home, wandering the library, or sitting in the kitchen while he cooked a proper English breakfast. Perhaps even with Willow and Xander and Oz visiting. Lord knew he had the room.

He shook the thought away. Pleasant as the fantasy was, there were several obstacles to it ever happening. Besides, they were still on the first date, never mind anything else.

He refocused his attention on Joyce. "I beg your pardon. I believe it was your turn to ask a question." He sipped at his wine.

"It is." Joyce studied him a moment, then set her wine glass down and leaned forward to look him in the eyes. "Normally, I wouldn't ask this, but all things considered..." She looked a little abashed.

"You may ask me anything you wish, of course." He swallowed. She hadn't been shy about her other questions, and her hesitancy now set him on edge.

She nodded. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. "Tell me about her. About the woman Buffy said you were dating."

 _ **Author's Note:** So...how do you like their first date?_

 _Next up...Discussion of Jenny and Buffy's dad._


	6. Chapter 6: Those Whom We Loved

**Chapter Six: Those Whom We Loved**

Giles froze. In fact, he felt as if he'd frozen in truth, right down to the marrow of his bones.

"Rupert?" The sound of his name brought him out of his shock.

He swallowed hard, twice. "You...you wish to know about...about Jenny?" His voice was hoarse, and his throat hurt, all of a sudden. He swallowed again, though it didn't help. "About Miss Calendar, I should say."

"Yes." Joyce set her glass down, looking him in the eyes. "I know, most women don't like to hear about the ex's. And it's probably considered tacky to ask about a recently deceased loved one. But you said it yourself, we don't have time for you to really recover from what happened, not if we want to make this work out before your replacement arrives. And personally...I would like to make this work. And I don't want to be embarrassed or blindsided by stray information about your previous attachment. It's just...it's easier, if I know about her, and who she was to you, and what happened beforehand. At least, I think it's easier." She sighed. "I'm sorry, and if you really don't want to tell me..."

"No. No, you are correct. You deserve to know." He knew for a fact that he still had nightmares at times about Jenny, still had days where her memory clung to him and made the passing hours nearly unbearable. Less than a year had passed since her passing, and in many ways the pain was still raw, a wound that had scabbed over but not healed. Or like the broken bones in his hand, which had been set and healed, but still ached on certain days.

He considered, then his gaze touched on the wine bottle. He snatched it off the table, corked it abruptly, and stood. "If you'll excuse me...I believe I need something stronger."

"Of course." Joyce nodded.

He took the wine back to the rack, and picked up the scotch he'd set aside earlier, along with two shot glasses. He brought them back to the living room, poured a generous measure of liquid into each cup. Joyce watched him silently.

He supposed an explanation of his abrupt behavior was as good a place to start as any. And it would get the most painful memory out of the way first.

He sipped his scotch, savoring the bite and the smooth heat, then spoke quietly. "I...I beg your pardon, but I...I can't stomach the sight of wine, not when I remember Jenny."

Joyce turned and set her glass aside, out of sight. He silently blessed her for the courtesy. "She liked wine?"

"She did. But that isn't the reason why." He took a hefty gulp of his scotch, and wished he were drunker than he was. "The night...the night she was killed..." His voice cracked. He took a deep breath, then forced himself to go on. "Angelus cornered her in the school. She was working on a project, a spell that might have stopped him. I was elsewhere, helping Buffy. I should have been there. I knew she was vulnerable. But I was not. And he hunted her, chased her, then caught her and snapped her neck. Or at least, so I gathered from the signs we found the next day."

He took another breath, another gulp of the scotch. It was good scotch, not really meant to be drunk that way, but he was far past caring. Joyce stayed silent, and he was rather grateful for it. "At the time...Angelus had entered all our homes, at one time or another. There was a spell, a spell to keep him out, but I had not yet applied it to mine. I deemed Buffy and Willow and Xander to be far more critical."

His voice cracked again, and images rose up before his eyes. He ducked his head, struggling to avoid hyperventilation. He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand touched his arm. A gentle hand, and a familiar gesture.

Buffy used that gesture, that touch, sometimes, to steady him or the others when something hit too close to home. Joyce's touch was just as careful and light as her daughter's, and it calmed him a little. Not enough to stop the burning ache in his throat and eyes, nor to stop the tears that escaped his closed lids, but enough that he could speak.

"I came home late. My door was unlocked. There was a bottle of wine on the table, a spread of roses. Classical music playing in the background. A note on the table. I had planned to meet Jenny, after we had both finished our work. We had been estranged, a foolish argument, and planned to work out our issues over a drink...perhaps more. So, when I saw everything...I thought it was her. Her way of...apologizing. The note said to go upstairs, so..."

His voice hiccuped, and his throat closed on the words. He drank more scotch to get the pain to ease, and fought the words until they tore loose, spilling into open air. "Angelus left her body in my room. On my bed, surrounded by roses. I walked in, and her eyes...I saw her..."

"Oh dear God. That must have been...I'm so sorry." Joyce's grip tightened on his arm. "Oh, I am so sorry. Rupert...I had no idea. When Buffy...she said it was murder, but..."

Buffy. His child Slayer, with more wisdom than he. "Yes. Buffy."

He wiped his eyes. "Buffy...she kept me from dying that night. Without her, I would never have survived the shock. Nor my own recklessness afterward."

He took a few shuddering breaths, got himself back under control. Or some form of it, anyway. His breathing was still unsteady, but the scotch on top of the wine was beginning to kick in, and the slightly numbing haze of alcohol helped. He glanced at Joyce, offering her a pained smile. "I went after Angelus, you know. Watchers are trained in physical combat, of course, and despite my general demeanor I am quite proficient. Not proficient enough to have emerged victorious, but I was hardly concerned with that. I attacked Angelus. I would not have survived, not with him and his followers against me, but Buffy...she came to save me. She rescued me from my own folly, then proceeded to knock sense into me. And then...then she...she comforted me, as best one might, and took me to a hotel to rest. And afterward...afterward, she stayed with me, as much as was possible. There was only a small funeral, but she attended with me, and stayed with me afterward, while I said my final farewells."

He managed a deep, shuddering breath, followed by a generous swallow of the scotch. "Afterward, I returned to my work as her Watcher, and the school librarian. I was determined that Jenny's efforts to aid us, and Buffy's efforts for my sake, should not be in vain."

"I see." Joyce paused. "I...I'm not sure what I can say..."

"You needn't." He took another breath. "I have had...some time."

"I know. But not enough I'm sure." Joyce paused. "Can I...ask you something else? Not about Jenny, unless you want to talk about her, but...about Buffy. The night she left."

He flinched hard at that, then recovered and turned to look at her. "Yes?"

Joyce met his eyes. "Buffy...when she left the house...she was talking about saving the world." She grimaced. "Which, I gather was not at all an exaggeration. It's just that...I knew from the police that there was a girl killed. And that her friends had been hurt. I knew Willow had a severe concussion, so bad they were worried about brain damage, and Xander had a broken arm, or something."

"And Cordelia and Oz were both injured, yes." He nodded.

"I know. But...what I couldn't help noticing when I thought about it later...much later...was that..." She paused, sipped her drink, then met his eyes again. "No one mentioned you. All the kids were found in your library, but no one mentioned what happened to you. I wasn't even sure you'd been involved until you showed up asking about Buffy a few days later."

"Indeed. Yes." He coughed, swallowing hard, and looked away from her.

Joyce caught his chin with her hand, tugging him back around to face her. He stared at her, dread rising in his chest as she met his eyes. There was concern there, and worry, and something terribly like understanding.

Joyce held his gaze, then spoke softly. "You know, I can't imagine you not being there, with all the kids in the library. So...I was wondering..."

She stopped, then spoke again. "Buffy...she wasn't just going to save the world that night, was she? From the demon, or whatever." She paused, searching his gaze. "She was saving you."

It felt like there were lead weights in his stomach. "Yes. She was." He reached up to tug Joyce's hand from his face, then turned away, looking at the far wall. "Angelus needed information on the ritual to waken the demon Acathla. Information only I could give him. To that end, he had me captured, during which the children were injured and Kendra, Buffy's fellow Slayer, was killed. He then had me brought to his lair, to be...interrogated." He took a deep breath. "I should greatly prefer it if you did not ask me for details in regards to his methods. Suffice it to say that they were both brutal and, in the end, unfortunately effective."

He closed his eyes. "He would most likely have done...terrible things, save that Buffy and Xander arrived then. Buffy held the vampires at bay and faced off with Angelus, while Xander freed me from my bonds and aided me in escaping, after which he escorted me to the hospital, to tend to my wounds."

"Oh God. No wonder she was so frantic to leave. I thought at the time she was just being stubborn or melodramatic or just...well, being a teenager. In a Slayer sort of way." He looked up to see Joyce slump against the couch. "I had no idea...did she know...what Angelus was..."

"She most likely knew why he wanted me. Certainly, she could guess what he would do once he had me. As to the details...I don't think so, though...she likely knew what had happened before she left, and I...I have told her some of it, the worst of it, since then."

"Oh God." Joyce grabbed for her glass, draining it in one gulp. She shivered as the scotch burned down her throat, then sank back against the corner of the sofa. She held her glass out, and he refilled it along with his own. She sipped, then sighed. "Suddenly, I am much less surprised that she disappeared."

"Indeed. As am I. It was a very traumatic time for all of us. And though I do disagree with her chosen course of action, I find I cannot censure her for it. At least, not much. With everything...I cannot blame her for wishing to escape. I have had to battle the urge myself, more than once."

"Oh, I would be so far gone you'd be tracking me to the East Coast." Joyce shook her head. "I had no idea it was so bad. Buffy doesn't talk about it."

"None of us really do, to tell the truth. Even Xander is uncharacteristically silent on the matter in general." He relaxed a little. He'd been afraid she'd be angry with him, that Buffy had left home because of him. She had blamed him before, after all.

"Yes well..." She sighed. Then she leaned back still further, almost boneless against the couch. "I hope I don't sound too callous but...can we change topics?"

"Of course." He was more than willing to do so. He cast about for something. "You mentioned wanting to know more about Jenny. I should like to propose a trade. I tell you about her, and you tell me about your former husband? Buffy's father?"

"Hank." Joyce considered. "Sounds fair. What would you like to know?"

"Well, how you met, for starters." The alcohol was beginning to work more on him, relaxing him in spite of his turmoil.

Joyce actually laughed a little. "That is...it's actually a funny story, which I will tell you only if you promise not to ever tell Buffy. I gave her the short version."

He smiled back, his own mood lifted by her laughter. "I see. Well, your secrets are safe with me. So...if I might inquire as to the long version?"

She grinned. "Homecoming Dance, my freshman year in college. I didn't have a date, but I went anyway. The first hour was completely awful, all these happy couples, loud music...I felt very out of place. And then I bumped into Hank, over by the refreshment table."

"And he was also alone?"

"No. He was with another girl. Who was also a member of the sorority that was partnered with the fraternity that he was pledging to. He was her escort for the evening."

"Oh." He winced. "I think I can guess where this is going."

"If you're guessing that we hit it off, and that I accidentally stole him from the girl he was supposed to be with for the evening, thereby ruining a few plans and confusing a great number of people...then you would be correct. I may also have...well, let's just say there was punch involved, and some accidental to not-so-accidental clumsiness involved before the whole evening was over. But...in the end, Hank walked me back to my dorm, and we agreed to see each other again."

"And that was the start of it."

"It was. And while I would never admit it to Buffy...there were several...let's just say our first few months of dating were a bit...chaotic." She smiled.

"Indeed. I can imagine. My own college years were quite...colorful." Particularly the time he'd run off into London and joined Ethan Rayne's crowd.

"I'll bet. Given the way you were acting with the band candy..."

"Quite. That was rather my mode of behavior until I was in my mid-twenties." Until he'd gotten his friend killed playing with magic he didn't understand.

"Hank and I were a bit more restrained but...not much." Joyce sipped a little more scotch. "So...you and Miss Calendar...how did you meet? I'm guessing at Buffy's school, but there must have been something to throw you together. Faculty party or something?"

"No. Jenny was the school computer programming teacher and technical resource manager. She was assigned to come in and update the library computers and filing system. We got into a rather heated debate on the merits of books versus computer information. She was adamant that books were outdated, that computers were the future and far more efficient, not to mention widespread. I, of course, argued for the value of the written word."

"And you argued so much you became close."

"Not quite." He grimaced. "One of the books that was scanned into the computer was actually a complicated spell sealing a demon into printed form. Scanning the book released it into the computer, and from there to the internet. It then brainwashed several students, and several adults, tried to build itself a robotic physical body, and tried to seduce and then kill Willow. At that point, Jenny came to me. She was a...she called herself a techno-pagan. She had noticed the demon's presence on the internet, and she helped us defeat it."

"And you went from there."

"More or less. We were still both very much embroiled in our debate of books versus technology and it branched out into discussions about school, the students, our various experiences in the occult...a number of things, really."

"I can imagine. And you...you had a lot in common?"

"Some things. Tea. An appreciation of literature, and of occult knowledge. Curiosity in many forms. But Jenny was...she was far more adventurous than I was. And far more...socially inclined, I should say. She was always trying to...to push me, to test my boundaries. In many ways, she helped me to see what it might have been like, if I could have been less destructive with my rebellious tendencies. She was a very...free-spirited sort of woman."

"It was something of the opposite for me. Don't get me wrong, Hank had his wild side, but he was always much more reserved than I was. Even in college, he was always the businessman type. And a little shy." Joyce laughed. "Buffy would say that both of us were a bit stuffy, but she didn't know me before I finished my degree and settled down. Being an art gallery curator demands just a little bit more respectability."

"Indeed. I spent some time as a museum curator myself, before I was assigned as the school librarian here. The profession demands a similar degree of solemnity. Once I arrived, I thought it prudent to discourage familiarity by retaining my previous wardrobe." He looked down at his vest and tie. "Jenny was always trying to persuade me to wear something more casual. I'm afraid I rarely complied. In fact, she once questioned whether I even owned anything else."

"Well, obviously you do, since I've seen you wearing it." Joyce sipped at her own drink. "Hank had to influence me the other way, actually. I didn't have a single professional looking outfit when I met him. I don't think I even considered them."

"Really? I have a hard time imagining that you could be persuaded into changing your wardrobe against your will."

"Well, it wasn't entirely against my will. It was our...oh, I guess it was our junior year. Hank was already looking for a job. He went from being this relaxed young man to being all about business suits and manners. It seemed almost like it happened overnight. All the young men in his fraternity were doing it as well. And all the sorority girls were trading out their poodle and pencil skirts for these elegant outfits...I didn't want to be left behind. And I was terribly afraid that Hank might decide he needed a more professional looking woman at his side. So...I changed." She shrugged, looking both sheepish and resigned.

"Understandable. It's my general observation that the demands of peer pressure and youthful romance can be quite pressing. I myself did a number of things I might not have considered doing under other circumstances."

"I suppose. Did you have a girlfriend in college?" Joyce blinked at him. "You seemed...very familiar with chivalry."

"No steady relationship. I did, however, engage in a number of casual...associations." Flings, as Buffy would have put it. He flushed. "I discovered that the manners my father instilled in me actually increased my chances, particularly when combined with my...attitude." It was his turn to laugh. "Buffy would be...astonished to know that I was rather the envy of many of my school-mates. Until I turned...stuffy...as she would say."

"I think Buffy still has trouble imagining that adults are human." Joyce leaned into his arm, smiling.

He shook his head. "I think Buffy knows all too well that adults are human. She simply thinks, at this age, that all adults were born in their thirties." He found a faint smile to return to her. He was beginning to relax, between her company and the effects of the alcohol.

"That is so much more likely." Joyce nodded. She glanced at him, then set her glass down. "Can I ask you something else?"

"Of course."

"What sort of things did you and...and Ms. Calendar do together?" Her voice was soft, hesitant. "You mentioned wine and roses and dinner, but is there anything else…?"

He understood her unfinished question. "Not unless you happen to be entertained by football, computers, or perhaps Monster trucks, no. The rest of our time was usually spent...like this, or in the library, poring over our different research. Except for the one time that Jenny joined me on patrol, which I would most heartily not recommend." He laughed, remembering the outcome of that particular date. It hadn't been funny at the time, but it certainly was in retrospect.

"I think I've had all the Slayer experience I can handle. And Buffy will probably wind up providing me with more than I want." Joyce grimaced and sipped her drink, then glanced at him. "But what's so funny?"

He swallowed his laughter. "When Jenny joined me...she wanted more hands-on experience, having been associated with Buffy and I for several months at that point. As Buffy was away, it seemed prudent to hunt in teams, so I agreed. The majority of the night was quite calm, but on the way home, we were attacked. Two vampires. I was engaged in combat with one. Jenny, having lost her stake, attempted to come to my aid with the crossbow. Sadly, her marksmanship skills were...somewhat lacking." He winced. "I believe I still have that particular scar."

"She hit you?" Joyce sat upright, eyes wide.

"Yes. In the...well, in the hind area, as it were." He felt himself blushing.

"You mean...she shot you...in the…in the hip?" Joyce colored to match him. Then she smiled, seeing the humor of the situation. "Oh dear. That must have been..."

"It was terribly awkward. To say nothing of when we returned to her house and attempted to...ah...tend and dress the wound. She insisted on aiding me, and on patching that particular set of trousers, though I assured her I was not overly attached to them."

Joyce broke into laughter. "I'm sorry, I know it isn't funny, but..."

"It wasn't amusing at the time, but it has gained in hilarity since. Fortunately, Buffy has never learned the particulars, or I should never hear the end of it." He laughed with her, the last of his tension dissolving.

He hadn't thought of those amusing moments in his former relationship, not in a long time. The pain had been too great. But somehow, sitting with Joyce and talking, it didn't hurt nearly is much. She made it better, easier.

Joyce's next question broke his reverie. "Did she really...you mentioned Monster trucks?"

"Yes. She took me to a Monster Truck Rally on our...third date, I believe." He grimaced. "She wouldn't tell me what we were doing, so I was dressed entirely inappropriately, of course. I was almost relieved when Buffy called me for an emergency."

"I can imagine. I can't see you as much of a Monster Truck guy myself." She smiled again. "It kind of reminds me of when I tried to take Hank to a rock concert. Don't tell Buffy, but I really do like classic rock. Drove him mad."

He laughed with her. "I do recall that you enjoyed some of my older albums." He blinked. "I could put one on, if you would like."

"No." Joyce shook her head. "It's getting late. I should be getting back home." She finished her drink and set it down.

"I'll give you a ride." He levered himself up off the couch, assessing his state as he did so. Relaxed, certainly, and possibly a little drunk, but not impaired.

"Are you going to be okay, doing that?" She collected her shoes and purse. "I can call a cab..."

"Not necessary. I assure you, I am functional. I seem to have only drunk enough to insure a good night's sleep." He collected his keys, then flashed her a smile. "I'll even take a sobriety test if you wish. But I promise that I am...perfectly safe. I should also point out that my car is...somewhat temperamental."

"All right Rupert." She nodded, accepting his claim. He held the door open for her, then shut and locked it behind him.

The drive to the Sommers residence was quiet, but not an uncomfortable silence. Giles drove her up to the walk, then turned off the car and came around to help her out.

"Thank you." Joyce smiled as he lifted her to her feet. "I had a lovely evening."

"As did I. I think that we could account this date a success."

"Maybe. There is one more thing..." The hesitancy in Joyce's voice made him turn.

She was watching him with wide eyes. When he met her gaze, she stepped closer, raising one hand to trace it along his cheek and jaw.

The next movements were so instantaneous that it was impossible to guess who moved first. There was no thought involved, at least on his part. Simply a step forward, a slight shift in balance, and then he was pressing his lips to hers in a gentle, chaste kiss. Her lips were as soft as he remembered them from their one wild night, but this time they were pliant and sweet, rather than hungry and demanding. There was no hurried rush, only a slow, sweet press of lips together, heads tilted just so to avoid uncomfortable contact.

It was perfect. His blood thrummed hard in his veins in response. He stepped back, breathing harder and feeling slightly flushed. Joyce was in much the same state, though she was also smiling.

There was a moment of silence again, and then her smile widened. "Now I can definitely say this date was a success."

Her smile was infectious. It would have been, he thought, even without the alcohol he'd consumed. "Indeed."

 _ **Author's Note:** Step one passed! Now Giles just needs a ring, a perfect moment, and the cooperation of his Slayer...poor Giles._


End file.
